Lodestar
by Marsh of Sleep
Summary: She wanted to bash his face in and tie him up with his own damn piggin' string. Maka Albarn, next in line to inherit her mama's cattle ranch, tries to deal with a new cowboy on her land. Soul/Maka, cowboy!AU. Rated for future content.
1. Your Ass Is Grass And I'm The Lawnmower

Hey guys! Well... I don't know much of what to say here. This is a present-day, cattle-ranching AU, and pretty much going to be my magnum opus, haha.

There's some terms and phrases at the bottom of this chapter to help you along, if you need. Also, I actually have very little knowledge of horses, so please bear with me, and feel free to advise me of terms/mannerisms/behaviors that I just get outright wrong.

I do not own Soul Eater.

* * *

**Man is the only critter who feels the need to label things weeds or flowers.**

* * *

He was hired without her knowledge in mid-winter.

She couldn't raise hell about it, or rather she shouldn't, because she was neither the owner nor the foreman. She was just Maka, owner's daughter- not someone to ask advice or take orders from, and low on the totem pole of her own design. She'd decided from the start not to be that kind of ranch princess.

Still, she found herself wishing murder to befall on the guest house. A sellout! How could they possibly have hired a sellout Evans!? If anyone was going to act the princess part it'd be _that_ guy. Angel's End would be the laughingstock of the next stock show when word got around they were so desperate for hands that they hired a- a- a **dude.**

"Spirit didn't like him either, at first, Maka," said Sue Strickland, actually Tsubaki Nakatsukasa-Strickland, twenty-seven, as they cleaned up the catastrophe that was the breakfast table.

"Oh good, maybe there's some sense in him after all." Maka angrily muttered, sweeping toast crumbs off the table and onto the floor.

"_At first._ Patti made him watch the guy rope and he changed his mind."

"What? Just over that- that's ridiculous, **I** can rope so we don't need a-"

"Maka you're not home everyday anymore, remember?"

Her hands tried to choke the broomstick handle into little plastic pieces. Maka was sometimes forgetful of the fact that her hesitant career path has recently placed her in the city on weekdays. If she wasn't forgetful she was resentful. "Urgh."

"Mifune and Kyle are decent but Kyle's a deputy now and Mifune can't do it by himself. We both know Black Star can't rope his way out a paper sack, and I'll be beyond pregnant come spring."

Maka eyed the small bump that is Tsubaki's stomach and groaned. "...Why an _Evans_, though?"

Tsubaki laughed. "He ropes better than you."

"HAH. Fat chance!"

* * *

He _did_ rope better than she. It infuriated her, but Maka Albarn, dishwater blonde, twenty-four, wasn't the type to not give full credit where credit was due. Turned out the Dude wasn't so much a dude, and was also district roping champion last year.

Maka hadn't participated in any rodeo contests, because rodeo was still a place that was segregated by gender, and she didn't want to compete unless it was with men. Wasn't any sense in testing her mettle if the arena wasn't close to simulating real life. Oh no, but the delicate _women_ had to compete in a girls-only rodeo. Misogynistic swine! She may as well be riding sidesaddle! Women's rodeo only gave a fraction of the winnings that men's awarded, and any title Maka could have won in competition didn't mean horseshit to the men's circuit.

In any case, regardless if she competed or not, the numbers didn't lie. Evans could rope a calf in just a hair over six seconds while she was pushing six and ninety-two hundredths.

She wanted to bash his face in and tie him up with his own damn piggin' string.

Maka scowled as the YouTube video ended, regretting the time she'd spent waiting on it to buffer with their sub-par internet just to watch something that would give her indigestion at five thirty in the morning. Black Star, actually Blake Strickland, actually eternal thorn in Maka's side, twenty-five, made the mistake of trying to cheer her up by saying, "Well you're so damned short, you hafta try twice as hard with your little legs," before she knocked his hat off his stupid head. "What? Maybe you should get a little Shetland so you don't have to jump down so far, shortstack."

She snapped her laptop shut and stalked out of the house, glaring at the rising sun as she started her truck. She gave a disgruntled wave to Black Star as he stomped into his boots, still laughing.

Unfortunately, the drive to town was long and boring, so she had plenty of time to mull over that disgusting six-point-eleven-second calf rope, that irritating grace Evans had jumping off his horse and tearing across the arena, the matter-of-fact way he wrapped the calf's legs, all the while his horse keeping the rope taut like she wouldn't rather do anything else in her life.

God, and Evans' horse was something else, too. Six months prior, a rowdy bunch of Morgans were put up for bid, and Patricia Thompson, buxom, just barely seventeen, stalked the daylights out of the sale. Angel's End's horse wrangler always had an eye for good horses, and even if she couldn't buy one herself she'd wanted at least one of them to go to someone she knew. (Fate saw fit that a mare would go to the younger brother of Pat's sister's boyfriend. This absurdly coincidental transaction had been the starting point of what Maka does not fondly call 'The Sellout Weeding on to Albarn Property'.) The horse was a ridiculously handsome blue roan, beyond energetic, and responded to Evans with such enthusiasm it made Maka consider keeping antacids in her saddle bag. The fact that the horse hated her guts didn't help, either.

Well, the feeling was mutual! Who would want to get along with the horse of a cow's ass whose family would give up their ranch to land-greedy, market-inflating, corporate cattle assembly lines and move to the city?

Maka growled angrily at her steering wheel while the radio finally picked up an FM station.

* * *

She met the county sheriff for lunch. Or rather, she waited for him impatiently at the usual cafe while Elizabeth Thompson, southern bombshell, twenty-eight, raved about her rodeo star boyfriend.

"A man that can ride a bull like that knows a thing or seven, if'n you catch my drift," Liz said while pouring Maka's sweet tea with such a lecherous grin that Maka could only grimace. "He's really nice though, specially accountin' for the rep he gets 'cause of his family. Which is jus' _dumb,_ seein' as how that had hardly nothin' to do with him! S'not like he gave up ridin'. He jus' got a pool now is all."

"Mmm," Maka inadequately said to her tea glass, feeling a little guilty for adhering to certain bad reputations like fly paper and eagerly using said stigmas to openly condemn certain ranch hands with whom she hadn't even exchanged words with.

"I'm sure his brother gets much less trouble, still cowboyin' and all. He's a good kid."

Maka spread the guilt a little more thickly over her conscience.

"He used to bullride too, didja know?"

"What, really?" Evans didn't seem the type for such an outlandish, dangerous sport- that was more of Black Star's territory. "I thought he just roped?"

"Well he does _now,_ but before? He was 'bout as good as Wes, til that black one hooked him good. Wes worried hisself sick over that. Said his brother got a scar from shoulder clear to hip!" she said, drawing a line diagonally across herself. "Hum," she muttered, resting the sweating pitcher of iced tea on her hip, "bet that's fancy lookin'."

Maka scoffed. "Your appetite will go down in the history books."

"I'm jus' sayin'," Liz smiled brightly. "If he's anythin' like his brother, you outta look into rippin' that tag off before someone else does."

"Whose tag are we ripping off?" a male voice interrupted their conversation, as one-sided as it was.

Liz, ever used to Sheriff Albarn's overprotective temperament, explained without missing a beat, "Why, there's a big sale goin' on at the Justin Boot, and I was just tellin' Maka how she outta get herself a new pair seein' as her present ones ain't even hardly fit for a sixteen step!"

Oh, she was good. Maka tried her hardest not to gag a little. Liz was always great at playing on cowboy heartstrings for a girl vying to move to the city. Maka couldn't help but shake her head in wonder. She watched Liz pour the sheriff some coffee. "I wouldn't be caught dead doing a sixteen step."

"Whaaat?" Liz dramatically says. And then, in a stage whisper, "Shut _up_, I'm _tryin'_ to get your _daddy_ to buy you some new _shoes,_ geeze!"

* * *

After lunch, she was inevitably led to the boot store by her father. Despite her intentions, or at least lack of interest, she was drawn to a certain pair.

Black snakeskin, punchy toed with a shallow scallop, ready for asskicking, she looked up to them, because the designers for the displays hadn't considered criminally short women browsing the shelves. Worked leather permeated the air-conditioned western store and Maka dully regarded the boots though she pictured them quite easily on her feet.

"Do you want them?" asked Spirit Albarn, reddish brown hair, forty-two, still wearing his cowboy hat, handheld radio chattering on his belt.

"No," she replied. Because they're expensive and he would buy them for her regardless of price, and she wouldn't be that kind of freeloading ranch princess.

She found them in the bench seat of her pickup when she got out of training that evening. Scowling at home, she noted they fit her perfectly. Tsubaki rubbed her belly and noted that snakeskin looked good on her. "Like that moccasin you killed last summer."

Maka hated snakes. The black serpent had been stalking Crona, two-and-a-half, Chihuahua, at a campsite near the lake. "Bitch deserved it," she muttered with mild satisfaction, fixing the drape of her jeans over her new boots. "You want more... pickles or something?"

"Maka, I hate pickles. I'm fine. DON'T TRACK THAT COW CRAP THROUGH THE KITCHEN, WE HAVE A MUD ROOM FOR A REASON."

Black Star slinked across the hallway and accused his wife of sonar and hidden cameras.

As if the outburst hadn't occurred, Tsubaki teased Maka, "I thought you weren't taking handouts?"

"I said 'no'! He snuck them in the damn truck when I wasn't looking. ...Which means he still has my spare key that son of a-"

"He knows you so well."

"That'd be fine if every housewife in the county didn't know him so well, too."

* * *

**An ounce of doing is worth a pound of talk.**

* * *

Winter was a hardworking season, even for the more Southern climates such that Angel's End enjoyed. Ice could still cover all the grazing pastures, and cattle must be fed every day, bright and early. Freezing temperatures would seal up ponds and stock tanks, leaving cows dehydrated. A winter workday on a ranch started before sunrise and stretched beyond sunset, and supper for a cowboy wasn't so much a sit-down meal as it was a drive-through.

So, it wasn't any surprise that after Sue cooked a feast fit for dixie kings, the sovereign couldn't come in to immediately enjoy it. The woman napped in a recliner in the living room, little Crona in her lap, while Maka dried the newly-cleaned cookware, keeping an eye on the pot of chicken and dumplings still keeping warm on the stove top.

Spirit Albarn, still in his sheriff's uniform, finished his supper and looked over the financial records his general manager had left him for his perusal. Paper rustled as he flipped through the pages. He didn't mention the fact that his daughter was still wearing her new boots in the house.

Maka didn't mention not knowing if her father was home late because of work or because of desperate housewives.

She glanced at him out the corner of an eye, running a dishtowel over a wet rolling pin. Her papa didn't look pleased with what Sue had left him, but he didn't mention that, either. Spirit stood, grabbing his empty plate. He walked up to next to Maka, sneaked his plate into the soapy water still drawn in the sink, and kissed the top of her head. "Stay warm. Storm's rollin' in."

"Are you working with us tomorrow?" she asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of her voice.

"Not this time, 'hon. I need to look into some complaints 'bout that Lazy S ranch, first thing."

Her disappointment was quickly overtaken by this information. She failed to keep her interest under wraps. "Aren't they the ones that bought the, ah, Evans property?"

"That'd be the one."

"...What kind of complaints?"

"Just some questionable reports. I want t'find out for myself first, sweets. I'm goin' to bed. G'night."

Maka sucked her lips into a thin line, and put away the rolling pin. "Mm. Night, Papa."

The stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor creaked as her father climbed. She called out, half-hoping she'd be too quiet to be heard. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," his voice softly echoed down the stairs.

Maka finished drying the dishes in relative silence, kept company by only the whistling kitchen window. The north wind was solid with cold, slapping into the fogged glass and worming its freezing temperatures into the house. She sighed, curious as to what kind of complaints had been lodged against that other ranch.

Lazy S had a lot of rumors circling it- most of which sounded far-fetched and just a hair short of old wives' tales- but the hard truth was the business running the place had a lot of money to throw around, and their practices were making it rough for ranches like Angel's End to make profit every autumn. Maka wondered if they'd manage to break even next year. She didn't want to think what would happen if they didn't.

She hung her dishtowel on a drawer pull and walked over to the kitchen table, taking her own gander at the books Tsubaki meticulously kept for Spirit. The numbers were strong, solid, and indicative of a promising calving come spring, but even so, she knew once they were shipped off in the fall, they'd somehow be outshone by cattle with that Lazy S serpentine brand.

Hearing boots on the back porch, Maka swallowed her unease and looked to the door. The cowboys were finally coming in from the weather, close to midnight. Blake came in first, followed by Mifune and Patti, with Evans bringing up the rear. They all look tired and cold, but Maka was surprised to see Liz's younger sister still present.

"Pat, what're you still doing here? Does Liz know?" she asked, quickly bringing down clean plates from the cupboards for the newcomers.

"I decided to stick around an' help," Patti replied, yawning. "Lizzy's out with Wesley tonight."

"_A man that can ride a bull like that knows a thing or seven, if'n you catch my drift."_

"Oh," Maka said dumbly, only half-aware of Blake eagerly taking the plates from her hands.

"Aaaand my Jeep's broke."

"What? What's wrong with it?" Maka hissed, concerned. "Did you wreck it again?"

Patti gave her an exasperated look. "That weren't _me_, it was Lizzy, I keep sayin'! And no, I didn't wreck nothin'- Soul says it's prolly the alter-nayter." She turned her head to Evans. "Right?"

"Should probably get it tested, but yeah." Evans walked by the counter long enough to grab two biscuits in a basket to Maka's right, and inclined his head marginally to her in passing. She tried to keep her eye from twitching with irritation.

To her curiosity, Evans didn't take an empty plate from Blake. He walked back to the door again, turning his head to Patti. "I'll warm up the truck," he said, before taking a giant bite out of a biscuit.

"Okee dokee, thanks," the girl replied quietly, as to not wake up Tsubaki in the adjacent room. Wind whistled through the back door as Evans shut it behind him. Patti bumped her hip against Maka's, interrupting any confused thoughts regarding certain Sellouts, and held her hands near the still-warm pot of chicken and dumplings while Blake scoops out a mountainous serving for himself. "Sorry I'm not stayin', but I got somethin' in the crock pot at home waitin' for me. Ooh, nice boots..."

"Buh, ah," Maka stammered, looking down at the footwear in question. "Thank you?"

"I'll see ya'll tomor- er, today. I'll come back to get the Jeep workin'."  
"Bye, Pat."  
"G'night."  
"Later."

"Tell Sue I sed 'bye'." Cold air swirled in as the younger Thompson left.

Maka swatted at Blake. "Wash your damn hands first, Black Star." He rolled his eyes and obliges. "Papa says a storm's coming in," she informed him.

"I believe it. Prolly ice more than anything." The faucet handle squeaked as Blake shut off the water. "How's she doing?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the living room.

"Ate like you and went to hibernate."

He laughed, relieved, and took his plate to the kitchen table to dig in. As Mifune pulled a fork out of a drawer, he quietly mentions that the calf count was wrong.

"You're sure?" Maka asked, now more fully aware of the incoming weather than ever.

"Counted twice." Twice was a big deal for the meticulous foreman. "Missin' one."

Blake swallowed a mouthful of chicken. "Thought so. One of the fall calves, wasn't it."

Mifune nodded, crossing his arms. "If ice is coming, it won't make the night."

Both men looked to the back door as if they could somehow see through it and into the pastures beyond. Maka read the weariness on their faces.

"I'll go," she announced. "I don't have class tomorrow."

"The horses are put up," Mifune warned.

"I'll take a feed truck. It has searchlights anyway. You guys eat and rest up."

Blake didn't bother swallowing this time. "Take a radio or somethin' with you."

She was already shrugging on her thick parka. "Yeah I know. Which pasture were they in today?"

* * *

Searching for a black calf in the middle of the night during an ice storm was one of the more irritating things a person can be tasked with, unless that person was Maka Albarn. She loved a good challenge, and perhaps a bit too much more than a normal person. She found it easy to think like a critter, and she took pride in almost always knowing where a stray calf was hiding, or when a copperhead might be hiding in a pail, or when the coyotes were making their rounds. Maka didn't understand how gut instinct can be so right- maybe living on the land every day allowed a person to pick up on patterns and cues without knowing.

The northeast hills of the property were rocky, erratic, and all-around not friendly in the dark. It was riddled with ravines and drop-offs, shallow ponds, and plenty of places for a young cow to hide. Maka carefully maneuvered the heavy diesel feed truck around obstacles she nearly knew by heart, slowly inching forward while piercing the night with searchlights and hi-beams. She had a feeling, for whatever reason, that a calf would have enjoyed the area in this direction, when the sun had still been a little warm, and before a cold front had blown in.

She parked the truck, leaving the lights on, and hopped out of the cab. The wind cut into her like knives, slicing through the neck of her coat and into her sleeves. Her new boots were stiff and ungainly, and she walked less than gracefully to the edge of a narrow ravine, holding a flashlight. The end of her ponytail whipped into her face as she tried to discern any movement below.

The wind was so loud that she didn't hear the other truck approaching; it was the headlights moving across the ground to cast her shadow in another direction that caught her attention. She looked back and instantly regretted it, her night vision destroyed by looking directly into another truck's hi-beams. Maka heard a door slam shut and watched a cowboy's silhouette cut across to her. She squinted, but then balefully recognized that particular, graceful, six-point-eleven-second gait, and frowned.

They were the first words he'd ever spoken to her directly. "Mitch's calf?"

For a guy that hadn't been on the ranch but a week, he sure caught on quick. "Not yet, but I have a feeling," she called over the wind.

"You're alone?"

He didn't say it incredulously, so she probably shouldn't have taken it as a challenge to her ability, but she did, and her pride quipped back, "They trust me." Blood hot, she shined her flashlight back down, searching more deeply into the ravine. As much as she valued her instincts, she still didn't know whether to go left or right. Immediately, her irritation tripled and focused mostly on herself. She hadn't been on the ranch much this week, and the longer she's gone, the less connected she felt. "I'll take East! You have a light?"

Evans clicked his own flashlight. "Be careful."

"Ah, uh, you too," she awkwardly returned, Liz's reenactment of Evans' scar flitting through her mind a moment before she turned eastward. The north wind buffeted her left side as she traced the edge of the ravine, shining her light alternately at her feet and into the drop-off. A small (but not small enough) part of her wanted to find the calf she knew was around here somewhere first, but she tried to choke out this weed of competitiveness, knowing full well that it didn't amount to shit who found the critter as long as it was found before it froze to death.

Her new boots fought her feet as she stumbled over rocks and clumpy, half-dead vegetation. It's when she regained her balance, arms flailing, when she saw the beam from her light reflect off two bovine eyes in the dark.

"There you are, sweets. We'll get you outta there soon." Maka darted around, looking for any kind of defining landmark, and settled for scraping together some loose gravel and dirt into an obvious mound with her boot. She took off West, left ear glad to be away from the wind, right ear sending tingling shocks of cold through her system. "Evans!" she called out, hoping her voice would carry and not be trampled by the storm. Sleet began to fall, pelting her head. "Evans! This side!"

She saw a distant pinpoint of light shine in her direction. Maka shined hers back, waving it around to get his attention. The ranch hand trotted back as quickly as one safely could in the dark next to a ravine. "Alive?"

"Looks stiff already. We're gonna have to haul it out."

"Lemme grab a tarp."

Maka walked back to her makeshift cairn, Evans not far behind her. She directed her light back in the ravine, and those two little eyes were still there, watching. When he caught up to her, they shared a hesitant look, though his wasn't much more than a shadowy cowboy hat and a clenched jaw as far as she could tell.

"Welp," he said, and hopped in.

She was thankful that much communication wasn't needed; Mister six-point-eleven had a ration of common sense, and seemed to know what Maka wanted before she asked. Together they maneuvered the weak calf into the tarp, and helped carry it out of the ravine with few mishaps. Honestly, the low point of the evening was the moment of being distinctly aware of new boots sinking into a less-than-day-old pie, but she only ground her teeth at that.

They got the calf settled in Maka's truck, laying across the passenger side of the bench seat. She clapped her boot on the side of a tire before walking around to the driver's side, shaking the sleet from her hair. Climbing in, she watched Evans point the heater vents to point at the critter. Sleet was gathering on the brim of his hat. "Meet at the barn?"

"The house."

He nodded, and gently shut the passenger door before hopping in his own truck. He led the way, a little slower than she'd like, but she was still grudgingly impressed (and slightly disappointed) that he didn't get a flat.

Maka shut her vents to direct more warmth through the ones pointed at the shivering little calf. It was already beginning to look a little more lively, its long, gangly legs twitching in the tarp it was wrapped in. She turned on the windshield wipers before draping her arm across the small, cluttered console separating her and the calf. She reached to scratch the critter's ear. "Have I been unfair to the sellout, little one?" she asked quietly.

The calf, not wanting to be touched by anyone that wasn't its mother, tilted its head away. Maka replaced her hand back at the wheel.

She heard a crackle of static, and a beep. _"Wouldn't know. Have you?"_ replied the handheld radio in the console's cup holder. Maka regarded the painful silence in the cab, recognizing that six-point-eleven voice. She groaned, reaching over to switch off the handheld.

* * *

In the mud room of the main house of Angel's End was an oversized, scratched up, cast iron bathtub. Maka filled this halfway up with warm water. Mifune, who had stayed up waiting for her return, and Evans eased the calf into the tub to help stave off any lingering hypothermia. Maka rested her hands in the water with the animal to bring feeling back into her numb fingers.

"We'll have to cut the ice tomorrow," Mifune said quietly.

Evans took off his hat and rubbed his bandana-covered head. It was the first Maka had seen of the top half of his face not shrouded in shadow. She didn't get more than a glimpse of curiously pale lashes and flaxen eyebrows before his hat is back on. "Alright," he gruffly said. "I can in the morning."

Maka piped up against the intentions of her weary brain. "Both of you go get some rest. I can mother up this one myself."

Evans looked like he was about to protest, but the ranch foreman spoke up before he could. "Appreciate it. See you in the morning, Maka. Evans." Mifune took his leave.

"G'night."

"Night, Mitch."

The calf shook its head, floppy ears splashing water around. Evans hesitated a moment before crouching next to her and stretching a hand to scratch under the calf's wet chin.

"If you're sure."

Maka couldn't stop the wry, sideways smile. She may have made an ass of herself over the radio, but that didn't blind her from seeing a guy who'd just worked a twenty-something hour day. "Go sleep. ...And thank you. For stopping."

He gave a small shrug. "Was planning to look anyway. Glad I wasn't alone." It was the longest string of words he'd said to her. He grunted, standing upright. "G'night," he said, heading to the back door.

"Night, Evans."

Slowly his feet stopped, and his bootheel quietly rested on the tiled, mudroom floor. He swiveled around a quarter turn. "Soul."

Maka looked to him, unable to see his face, and settled for focusing on the familiar brim of his hat. To her dumbfounded blinking, he repeated, "My name is Soul." With that, he turned back around and walked out into the cold.

* * *

Well, she knew his name was 'Soul'. Soul Ethan Evans, district roping champion, twenty-six to his brother's thirty, and, after a long YouTube buffer, victim to the black bull Ragnarok two autumns prior.

Anyway, she'd been calling him 'Evans' in an attempt to stop calling him 'Sellout', but it seemed he disliked either brand equally. Maka closed her laptop and settled more deeply in the bed she'd had most of her life. She absently stroked Crona's fur. Her feet ached, and her body seemed to retain a chill that she knew she wouldn't be rid of until she saw the first blade of grass in spring.

There was a deep-rooted part of her that wouldn't forgive a person who gave up her kind of life, but she'd found that out of all the Evans family, she may have been nailing her judgment on the one person who had tried to give up the least.

"_Wouldn't know. Have you?"_

In the dark, she tried to slap the embarrassment off her face.

* * *

**It don't take a very big man to carry a grudge.**

* * *

Morning found her in four and a half hours. The coffee Tsubaki brewed for everyone could pass for tar, it was so strong, and Maka was grateful enough to drink two cups of it before the other cowboys had rolled out of bed. She rinsed her cup in the sink, exchanged words with bleary-eyed Blake, nauseated Tsubaki, and her father. Glancing out the kitchen window, she noticed the horse stable. Evans' mare, Harley, stood out like a sore thumb, very unsaddled.

Oh, how quickly her judgment jumped on this occasion. "Looks like our hand isn't up yet. Wasn't he supposed to be cutting the pond, Mitch?"

Mifune clucked his tongue once as he spooned a portion of Tsubaki's scrambled eggs onto his plate. "I'll get it then."

"Oh no, I've got it. You go ahead and eat," she said a shade too chipper. "You have to worry about feeding them today, don't you?"

"Mm."

* * *

Harley, by way of predictable, indignant snort, relayed a snooty 'I'm watching you, Albarn' as Maka passed by. Maka blew back out of habit, not even rising to the bait as she toted tack.

"Hey Skully," she called out to her partner in crime. Skully was an easy-going Quarter Horse, which suited Maka just fine. A horse that didn't startle as someone of her stature struggled to get a foot in a stirrup was immediately an ally. The bay gelding was bald-faced, the white patch covering the majority of his face giving the impression of a clean skull.

The horse nickered to her, breath coming out in big puffs in the frigid air. Maka's gloves were stiff with cold as she struggled with saddle buckles. When everything was situated, she led the horse out of his stall and to the nearby toolshed. She finally mounted, axe and shovel draped carefully across her lap.

She made her rounds to all the ponds, hacking long stretches of ice along the water's edge, and then overturning the frozen surface in segments to leave exposed water behind. It wasn't backbreaking work for her- she was used to this kind of thing- but it wasn't the most pleasant exercise at sunrise in boots that still needed breaking in. Resting a moment, she waved when Tsubaki, slowly driving a feed truck, passed by, Blake gradually knocking off hay for the cattle that followed them around the pasture.

Either Maka or Evans should have been helping Mifune in another pasture, because feeding was not a one-man job by any means, but she'd been cutting ice all morning, and Evans was still yet to be seen.

Her temper was hot and the weariness in her back and shoulders only made her angrier. After her rounds were finished, she mounted her horse once more, juggling axe and shovel, and headed straight for the guest house.

No hired hand slept in on her mama's ranch, no matter how late a night it may have been.

"Evans! " she hollered, and her horse twitched with her sudden outburst. She stroked his neck in apology before dismounting. "Evans, what in the hell is wrong with you? You better be dead in there else you will be soon!"

"Bout time someone showed up," she heard a hoarse voice from a tiny window. "Been yelling since sunrise."

Maka's face scrunched up in confusion but she didn't let this deter her ire. "You best have a good explanation as to why I've been doing your work all... morning," she trailed off, glancing at the guest house and the placement of the window. "Are you... standing on the commode?" she ventured.

"I am."

"..Wh-"

"Albarn, I am iced in, and my horse needs fed, and the goddamn phoneline's been eat by some critter. Who in their right mind builds a house what faces north?!"

Maka's mouth opened, a cloud of breath erupting before she snapped it shut again. Her idiot papa was who, but that had been a long time ago and the only people who got to give him hell about it was her mama, and herself. So like hell she'd volunteer that information to an Evans! "Don't fall in," she said lightly, and walked around to the front door of the small guest house, shovel and axe propped on her shoulder.

"Hey, wait. My horse-"

"That cow can wait another half-hour!" she shouted back.

"Cow!" His voice was faint but his irritation rang loud and clear in the crisp air. "Better than a rat that barks!"

"**My dog is not a rat!"** Maka took out her anger on his front door, using her shovel to wedge it under the thick ice covering the frame. "And neither is my dog any kind of-" she gave a mighty stab with the shovel, "fancy-assed," stab, "spoiled foul," stab, "high-collar," and her shovel was stuck into the doorframe, wedged, and this was when she realized she was chopping even _more_ ice for Evans, "Lipizzaner dressage circus beast!"

The door slammed open, Evans having thrown his weight on it. Maka nearly stabbed him with the business end of the shovel. "AHH!"

A gust of warm air whipped out of the house as Evans stumbled into her. His look of surprise was quickly overwritten with a scowl. "She ain't no dressage horse, though your damned yappy dog is at least short enough to be yours!"

Maka was surprised to see his eyes; they were some kind of weird, thick blood color that accentuated the flush in his cheekbones. It distracted her a moment before she realized he'd made her the butt end of a joke regarding her lack of personal altitude and promptly smacked him with the handle of her shovel.

"Ow, son of a-"

"You... ass of an ass! Get to work!" Maka tossed her shovel at his feet for no reason other than just outright refusing to touch anything that had come into contact with him. She picked up her axe and took long strides back to Skully, mounting in one smooth motion. "You're welcome, your HIGHNESS!" she shouted, angrily leaving Soul Ethan Evans behind.

* * *

Notes:

Angel's End- name of the ranch that Spirit Albarn owns.

Dude- a city man, i.e. not a cowboy.

rope/ropes/roping- to lasso something. in this case, cattle.

piggin' string- a rope specifically used to bind an animal's legs, usually in competition. in this case, calf-roping.

Shetland- Shetland Pony. Black Star is poking fun at Maka's shortness.

Morgan- a breed of horse.

'ripping off his tag'- a somewhat questionable (in cowboying cirlces) flirting custom in the South in which a woman (or man) will rip off the brand tag (usually Wranglers) off the waistline of a person's jeans. Generally an I-Want-You-In-My-Pants sort of gesture.

Justin Boot- A well-known cowboy boot manufacturer.

'alter-nayter'- Patti's accent is thick. Alternator.

'six-point-eleven-second' - this is Soul's champion roping time, and Maka has a jealous fixation about it.

'less-than-day-old-pie' - as in, cowpie. Maka stepped in cow manure.

'sellout'- Maka holds resentment to anyone she perceives as someone who's given up the ranching lifestyle for money. She's very proud of the way she and her family lives, and is particularly judgemental of the Evans family. It can be noted that she curiously does not have such resentment for Elizabeth Thompson.

Quater Horse- a breed of horse, most popularly used as cow horses/ranching horses

Gelding- a castrated horse.

Lipizzaner- a breed of horse, usually associated with certain types of dressage

Dressage- how to explain.. it's like very coordinated horse and rider gymnastics? More focused on the horse than anything. It's a very respected sport in some circles, but cowboying is not one of them. (i.e. ranchers generally find it silly and unproductive.)


	2. You Better Get Left 'Cuz You Ain't Right

More notes at the bottom to help you along! This one's a little short, so I'll be updating again before the end of next week.

I do not own Soul Eater, YouTube, or Chevrolet.

* * *

**It is easier to acknowledge your horse's faults, once you have acknowledged your own.**

She spent the rest of the day fuming in her gut, though she did her best not to take her temper out on innocent bystanders. Maka kept one eye on Evans, who she couldn't decide was actually working twice as hard as usual to appease Mifune, or just because he was angry. Eventually, Maka went off-property to pick up Patti, who had called for a ride to town to pick up a new alternator and grab some dinner.

"I would be pleased if he just fell up a ladder and into a windmill."  
"You gotta admit, a chee-hooa-hooa ain't exactly a cowdog."  
"I don't pass Crona off as a cowdog! Regardless, you don't call someone's dog a rat."  
"'Magine you don't call someone's horse a cow, neither."

Maka choked on her pickle. "How'd you find out about that so fast?"

"Black Star is mighty quick with the text messagin'," Patti smiled before chugging her Dr. Pepper. "Looks like he's gettin' on well with Soul."

Maka sighed, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. "That's just what I need, two thorns in my side."

Patti belched loudly and gave a friendly wave to the other patrons in the diner who stared. "I'm beginnin' to wonder which of you is the thorn and the other the side," she mused. "Sometimes I think the Soul you tell me about ain't the same as the one I talk to every day."

"So, I should just take all the short jokes like a church sermon?" Maka replied, indignant.

"I didn't say none of that, I'm _sayin__'_ you're actin' like his horse, all stompin' and snortin' without givin' anybody who ain't family the time of day."

Maka shook her head. "That's _not_ true."

"It ain't? Then how come you never once congra'juated my sis 'bout her boyfriend?"

Blinking, Maka paused while pulling out cash to pay for the lunch ticket. "W-what?"

Patti stacked her silverware and napkin on her empty plate. "How many times has Lizzy told you 'bout Wes? Do you even know how long they've been goin' now?"

"I... I guess a couple of months? I don't know, what're you getting at?"

The younger blonde pursed her lips, displeased. "Over a _year__._ And you, not so much a 'I'm happy for you Elizabeth Thompson'! 'Cause you got a thing 'bout," Patti raised her fingers up, "**'****sellouts****'**-"

"Well of course I'm happy for your-"  
"-and anybody that ain't someone Mrs. Albarn hired for the ranch is an enemy."

The sounds in the diner were too casual and mundane for the feelings simmering in Maka's blood. Patti's hard, blue-eyed stare implied that horse wrangler knew exactly just what she'd said and how much it weighed on the parties present.

Maka didn't know whether to blow up or implode. She knew what her friend was saying was true, but it was the kind of truth no one wanted to hear because it meant admitting being wrong. To have her mother mentioned was just the icing on the emotional bomb. Maka slowly counted to five and smoothly stood out of the booth and exited the diner.

She waited in her truck for Patti to get in the passenger side, and silently backed out of the gravel parking lot. Patricia Thompson was a girl who got along with horses a lot better than people; she refused to go out of her way to be 'polite', and always got straight to the heart of a matter. Maka admired this aspect of her, though to have it directed at herself was hard to swallow. Having logic hammered into her by someone she practically considered a sister was a blessing and a curse.

After eight mile markers and the last set of stoplights long behind them, Patti spoke up. "I talked to him last night, when he gave me a ride home."

Maka said nothing.

"He asked me about you, he says," and she poorly imitated his voice, pulling her hat low on her brow so her face was nearly hidden, "'Is she always givin' people the evil eye or is it only me?'"

Setting the cruise control, Maka scoffed, adjusting the temperature of the heater. "What did you tell him," she asked resignedly.

"I tell him, 'You thought your horse took a long time!'"

She sighed. "Okay, okay, I admit to being... a bit _stubborn__,_ are you happy?"

"You _think__?_ And Harley 'bout bit his finger clean off that first week, too!" The girl guffawed, telling Maka about that hospital visit and how Soul had tried to gross out Liz on the way to the emergency room. That tale spiraled from there to her sister and her usual shenanigans, but Maka still understood the point of the whole anecdote, even if it had fallen off-topic.

He tried, was what Patti tried to tell her. He was trying, and Maka ought to try at least as much.

...And maybe not call his horse a cow.

* * *

**If someone is speakin' from the ground, a cowboy gets off his horse and talks eye to eye.**

* * *

When it came time for the ever-dreaded stock show, Maka was both irritated and grateful that she was too busy with the ranch and starting clinicals for her veterinary program to even find time to go. Winter gave them a steady list of things to do, never letting up on the freezing temperatures long enough to skip a day of cutting ponds and driving feed trucks.

She would admit, though never out loud, to having a certain insatiable interest in whether or not Soul Evans was going to participate in any part of the stock show, and on several occasions had drained her laptop's battery buffering YouTube coverage of the rodeo events long into the night. Despite several nights of living vicariously through the internet, she turned up nothing about the ranch hand competing at all.

With only a few days left of the stock show, Maka was contemplating breaking down and finally asking Mister Six-Point-Eleven directly when, on a crisp Sunday morning, the second feed truck caught fire.

Maka scowled, watching as her spare pair of good leather gloves burned to a crisp in the cab. "This is gonna make feeding even more of a pain."

Mifune grunted, waving in the stocky, volunteer fire department's truck into the pasture.

Turning to make the long trek back to the house on foot, Maka said sourly, "I'll go call Papa. Hopefully someone's selling a flatbed on the bulletin in town." She angrily stomped her way through the frost-covered field. An out-of-commision truck wasn't a terrible thing on most days. It was a hassle in winter, when they were used the most, but they could be rebuilt and put back to work.

Unless, of course, they're on fire and a profit had been barely made last autumn.

Halfway across the pasture, she saw Evans on horseback, Harley in an effortless lope. They slowed and passed her before turning around to ride at her side. "What happened?" he asked, hand steadying an axe and shovel in his lap.

"Engine's on fire," she spat, more displeased with the situation than actually having a one-on-one with Evans. "Firetruck's here. It's fine. I gotta figure out where we're gonna get another truck that isn't the cost of a firstborn and my tuition."

She thought she heard a snort, but she didn't want to look and confirm if it had actually come from the man and not the horse. "Want a lift?"

At this, Maka did stop, and she gave both Evans and Harley a skeptical look. "No thanks," she flatlined. That horse had it out for her, and she knew better. The mare gave her an obligatory snort for anyone having the audacity of looking directly at her. Maka rolled her eyes and continued to the house. Behind her, she heard the clanging of axe blade knocking into shovel, and boots hitting the earth. Irritated to look back again, she was confused to see Soul leading his horse to catch up with her. "What're you doing?"

He gave her a quizzical look. "'Don't talk down from a horse'?"

Maka stammered, slightly thrown off course by his display of cowboy politeness. "N-no I mean... don't you have some ponds to be chopping or something?" She began walking again, trying to balance stubborn disdain and lectures about giving strangers a chance.

"I finished."  
"You, uh, don't have to stop on my account."  
"Figured I ought to. Think I can find you a truck."

Maka looked to him in surprise, awaiting further explanation, but Evans only began to walk backwards, blowing his frozen breath into his horse's face.

* * *

On the phone with her father, Maka sat at the kitchen table, dully assuring Spirit that everything was fine.

"I was driving. Yes, I'm fine. Smoke was coming in through the- yes, I'm fine. No, nothing else caught on f- Sue is fine too. _Everyone __is __fine__._ Yes. Yes, I'm sure." She held the phone away from her ear a moment, clapped her hand over her mouth, and muffled her own scream before replacing the phone back against her cheek.

Across from her sat Soul, who propped up his chin with a hand. He was still as a statue, despite her outburst, and if she didn't know any better she would say he was asleep sitting up. It was pretty hard to tell with his hat shading his face. He still hadn't spilled any beans about whatever truck he thought he could catch for them, and between her irritation with her father and the unhelpful silence from the person across from her, Maka's mood skipped right over sour and fell straight into curdled.

"Papa, we need a new truck," she groaned, trying to get past all the preliminary questions regarding her safety.

Evans perked up at this, hand sliding out from under his chin and motioning for the phone. Maka's eyebrows scrunched, the end of her sanity nigh. She covered the mouthpiece of the phone with a hand, blowing her bangs out of her face. _"__What__."_

"Lemme talk at him."

Maka closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Why he couldn't just tell her directly and let her suffer her father in peace was beyond her. Opening her eyes, she frowned her displeasure, but he only curled a finger in come-hither fashion, and she felt herself cease all production of effort to be spent dealing with this absurd situation. Sighing, she handed the cordless phone over.

When Soul stood up and walked away with the phone for privacy, she just wanted to throw her boot at him. With a groan, she rested her head on the table.

Whatever, she had other things to worry about, like finding sleep before her next shift at the clinic. She should probably go back out to the pasture to make sure nothing else exploded, or see if she could help out finishing feeding the cattle, or do anything remotely productive without constantly battling her instinct to give Soul Ethan Evans hell for simply breathing.

She was trying, damn it! After having her fallacy pointed out to her both directly and indirectly by the Thompson sisters, Maka was stuck self-analyzing every flare of annoyance she felt regarding Soul, trying to sort out which peeves were based on his being an enigma, and which were only a by-product of her prejudices. The fact that she was intensely jealous of that stupid champion roping time didn't help matters.

Her head was swimming when Soul rounded the corner and stepped back into the kitchen.

He looked disgruntled. Placing the phone quietly on the table, he cleared his throat. "Could you tell me how your father got the impression that I have, erm, 'impure intentions' towards you?"

She groaned into the table again. "Don't... take it personally," she said, though she did note seeing him uncomfortable was somewhat gratifying. "He's like that with anyone that's a man who isn't married. Or Mitch."

Soul sat down in his previous chair. "How often would you say he used that pistol?"

Maka found herself smiling, lifting her head. "I make him unload it before supper every night. That'll give you a head start."

He made an uneasy noise in the back of his throat. He placed his hat on the table, upside down. "Well anyhow, it's settled. You don't have to worry 'bout another flatbed."

She was stuck trying to classify just what kind of color his eyebrows officially were, watching him rub that bandana-covered head with a hand. Was he bald under there or what? "That so?"

He grunted evasively. Suddenly, Maka's focus was on his behavior rather than appearance. She watched his eyes dart to one side.

"What did you do." she asked, no question mark.

"Don't matter."  
"Evans, did you-"  
"Soul."

"-j.. _Soul__,_" she drew out his name, her impatience blooming, "Did you just have your richy family buy us a-"

"_Hell_ no, like I'd ask them for money," he shot back, voice not raising in volume but rather gaining a depth that cut through the kitchen. "Look, I dunno what kinda misconceptions you got about me, but-"

"Then why're you all shifty-eyed? You look guilty."

He scowled, finally looking at her directly. "'Cause whenever my last name gets said, your eyes _brand __me__."_

She flushed, but refused to glance away on principle. Some acknowledgement regarding how she did not automatically respond with any kind of retort involving the word 'sell-out' would have been nice, but she had a feeling it wasn't forthcoming. "W-well if they didn't buy it, then where's it coming from?"

"You're buying it," he tiredly answered.

She blinked.

"Well, your pop is," he corrected, rubbing under his nose. "It's our old one what we didn't sell. S'got no purpose now, so."

"Oh." Maka winced. It only took half a second for her to substitute herself in a world where all aspects of her familiar life are labeled 'No Purpose'. She swallowed an indefinable emotion, wanting to latch on to her immediate surroundings and preserve them in her memory. "Thank you," she ground out.

In the awkward silence, Soul stood, replacing his hat back on his head and adjusting the tilt of the brim. As he did so, Maka found herself standing as well, her voice popping out of her mouth. "Ah, wait a 'sec." She walked around the table to face him, and his back straightened as she drew near. She reached, pushing the brim of his hat up half an inch, glad he wasn't so tall she had to stand on her toes. "I might not glare so much if I could see your damned face," she mumbled.

The corner of his mouth twitched up a moment as he blinked. His hand reflexively came up to fiddle with the brim, but she smacked it away.

"Quit it."

He exhaled noisily out his nose, hand dropping. "I got work to do," he said, tilting his head down enough to stubbornly hide his eyes with his hat.

She caught the small smile. Maka scoffed, stepped to the side to let him pass, and watched him leave.

Behind her, the sound of the refrigerator door slamming caused her to jump. She whirled around, finding Tsubaki munching on a celery stalk. A big grin was plastered on the general manager's face.

"I saw you lookin' at his butt."

* * *

A combination of scrambling around to finish the day's feeding and avoiding conversations about cowboy butts took up the rest of the day Maka had originally reserved to finishing up paperwork before her next rotation at the vet. She got up before the sun the next morning, filling out worksheets while drinking coffee.

To her shock, she was startled awake twenty minutes past the time she was supposed to leave, her father's hand nudging her shoulder.

"You're gonna be late, sweets."

She was horribly disoriented, back and arms stiff from having fallen asleep on the kitchen table. Heart thundering, Maka glanced to the paperwork beneath her. It was completed. She sighed with relief and rose from her chair, hurriedly gathering her things. "Crap, crap, crap, crap, bye Papa-"

"Don't speed."

She sped, though not to spite her father. When she pulled into the (relatively) local veterinary hospital, she was nearly an hour late due to traffic in town. However, her supervisor and mentor, Miranda Nygus, didn't look as disappointed as Maka had feared. If anything, the middle-aged woman was surprised.

"Good morning, Maka... What are you doing here?"

Maka made an unseemly noise of sleep-deprived, harried confusion. She looked at the dry-erase calendar mounted on the wall behind the desk which Miranda sat.

She'd read the weeks wrong. Her shift of clinical training wasn't until the following week. The trainee properly on duty- her classmate, Kimberly Diehl- stepped out of the back room, one side of her strawberry-red hair sticking up at an odd angle.

"I have just _had_ it with these slimy critters, Miss Nygus!" she complained, rubbing a paper towel in her hair with disgust.

"Maybe if you didn't smell like peaches, they wouldn't lick you so much," Miranda laughed.

"Momma bought the soaps in bulk... I hafta use it all 'fore we can get a different smellin' one." It was then she noticed Maka. "Oh hey! What're you doin' here?" Kim asked, confused. She gasped. "Gotta sick cow?"

Maka smiled wanly. "No, I just can't read. Came by accident." She turned back to Miranda. "Can I borrow the wifi? Since I'm all the way out here for no reason."

"Sure, go for it. Awe, is that all your paperwork? You finished it, didn't you."

Maka nodded glumly while her superior laughed again.

* * *

She checked her email on her laptop, occasionally giving input to the other two ladies regarding overall bovine health. When Miranda and Kim were both otherwise occupied, Maka skimmed over her student loan statements for a moment before muting her laptop's speakers and opening a separate tab to YouTube.

Still no news on the stock show front, which didn't particularly surprise her. Evans had been on-property all day yesterday, and she'd be more than a little confused if he had somehow managed to sneak in a calf roping downtown.

Out of curiosity, she searched for 'Wes Evans rodeo', which brought up an impressive slew of results. There was almost no buffering time after she clicked the most recent video, dated last night. She watched the elder Evans brother ride a monstrous bull around the arena. After the performance, Wes hobbled to the person recording the video, a big smile stretching across his face.

Muted, Maka had no idea what he was saying in the impromptu interview. A few seconds in, and he was nearly tackled by none other than Elizabeth Thompson, dressed to the cowboy nines, who planted a big wet kiss on his dusty cheek. Maka laughed. Of course Liz would be at the stock show. She'd worked the ticket counter every year since high school. In the video, Liz said something directly to the camera, complete with saucy grin. Wes then took off his cowboy hat and carelessly flung it into the stands.

Hand possessed, Maka paused the playback.

Atop Wes Evan's head was a close-cropped, sweaty mop of pale, almost-blonde-but-not-quite hair, which matched his silvery eyebrows. Overall, he had a stockier jawline than his brother. They shared a chin, though. And that peculiar, ruddy eyecolor.

"Huh," she said to no one.

Driving home after having found nothing else of interest online, Maka's curiosity could not move away from the possibility of Angel's End's newest hired hand having similar physical attributes to his older brother. She wasn't sure why it mattered- even less sure why her mind kept floating back to Evans and all the incessant posterior comments Tsubaki had plagued her with.

When she pulled into the driveway at home, she noticed Soul's truck was missing. Walking inside, Maka found Tsubaki in the living room, who was absently rubbing her stomach and typing away on a ten-key, adding figures. The financial records were spread in front of her on the coffee table, while she sat on the floor.

"Sue," Maka said, exasperated, "we _did_ clear out that spare room so you'd have an office, you know."

Tsubaki smiled, taking off her chic reading glasses. "I know. But the fridge is a lot closer to here than there."

"...There's a kitchen table-"  
"Leave me be! I'm comfortable."  
"Alright, okay!"

Maka debated a moment over whether she should ask the older woman where their hired hand had run off to, curious to know if maybe he'd gone to the stock show after all, but on the other hand, she did not want to be teased about butts.

"What're you doing home so early?" Tsubaki asked. "I thought you had to go to the clinic?"

"I did already. Apparently I can't read calendars properly."  
"Oh, no."  
"Yep. So... I have a week off, how about that?"

Laughing, Tsubaki put her glasses back on and shuffled through various receipts. "Is it dinner time yet?"

Maka glanced across the room and into the kitchen, squinting at the clock on the microwave. "Not quite. Quarter to noon. Maybe, ah, time for an appetizer?"

"I'll need a cheeseburger for an appetizer," she replied dryly, fingers quickly snapping across the keys of her calculator. "Mmm, with onions and tomato and lettuce, on a roasted, golden bun... Oh! Speaking of-"

"Oh, lord," Maka muttered.

"Are you gonna butter those biscuits, or what?" Tsubaki blandly grilled her, stapling invoices together.

"I have _no_ idea what you're talking about, Sue," Maka blurted, retreating to the kitchen to pointlessly look in the refrigerator to make herself look busy.

"Of course you don't."

"Are they coming in for lunch, today?" she called, trying to change the subject.

"I doubt it. They ate so much in the morning I felt bad for their horses."

Horses! Maka whipped her head around, peeking out the window over the kitchen sink looking for a particular Morgan. If Evans had gone roping, he wouldn't have left without his irritating sidekick. Harley was wandering the corral, waggling her lip at Crona, who was sniffing around nearby.

Maka was stumped. Where had that lone ranger gone off? She grabbed a leftover pancake sealed in plastic wrap and shut the door. Walking back into the living room, she handed this to Tsubaki.

"Oh! Thanks." She unwrapped the gift and tore off a piece to pop in her mouth. She typed in a few more numbers. "He went to see his family," she bluntly said.

"Oh." Then, a beat too late as Maka tried to save face, "..._Who_ went?" Tsubaki merely raised an eyebrow over the frame of her glasses, not buying the act. Maka's shoulders rose up in defense. "Don't give me that look, alright? I just... wanted to know if he was roping at the show, that's all."

Tsubaki made an enlightened sound. "I see. And you haven't asked him, yourself, because?"

Maka opened her mouth, but had no excuse at the ready. Luckily, she was interrupted by obnoxious honking. "...What the hell?"

"I guess they're here."  
"They?"

Tsubaki munched on the rest of her cold pancake and stood. "With the new truck. Come on then."

This whole feeling lost and disconnected thing was really shooting down Maka's amiability. She glumly followed the general manager out to the rarely-used front porch and watched a noisy cavalry drive up.

In the lead was Soul in his rusty red pickup, followed by a relatively new Suburban with tinted windows, and in last place was a bright red, flatbed hay bale hauler with some weird contraption attached to the rear bumper.

Maka tilted her head to the side, leaning on a post of the covered porch. Crona came running with his short little legs, skittering across the cement to stand at her side. "Hey, buddy," she called. The dog's tail wagged once before he was reduced to nervous, excited jitters from all the commotion. She let him hide behind her boot.

Soul engaged his loud emergency brake after parking. Maka watched him slide out of the cab, looking stiff from a long drive, and he waved to the Suburban to park next to him as he walked up to the idling flatbed diesel.

Maka was surprised to see Patti run out from the stables to the Suburban, opening the driver's side door with a laugh. Elizabeth Thompson stepped out, which was confusing because Maka knew Liz drove a beat up, four cylinder coupe. If she was driving someone else's vehicle, then the person driving the flatbed must've been...

"YOU BIG GOOBER, you didn't tell me it was Angel's End you was cowboyin' on!"

Next to Maka, Tsubaki covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as Wes Evans stole Soul's hat and gave his twenty-six year old brother a noogie through his bandana.

"Dammit Wes, what the hell, _ge__'__roff__!"_

Maka was suddenly pleased she was mistaken about her clinical schedule today.

* * *

**Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier than puttin' it back in.**

* * *

After a lengthy how-to session regarding the usage of the hydraulic, bale-lifting arms on the back of the new truck, Tsubaki implored everyone to stay for supper. She and the Thompsons prepared a table-crowding spread, warming up the kitchen.

Wes' right hand waved around the table as he talked. "Yeah, Officer Albarn tried damn hard to pin the horseshit going on at our place on Georgian. Nearly did it too, but her lawyers- _plural__! __Lawyers__!-_ gave hell 'bout 'reasonable doubt', buncha lowlife, gravy-sucking-"

Liz smacked him on the shoulder. "Not at the table!"

"Right, pardon."

"Georgian?" Maka asked, confused.

Tsubaki spoke up. "Maddy Georgian is the owner of Lazy S."

"Damn rat'ler, she is," Wes said lightly. Liz didn't correct him.

Maka's eyes flickered across the long table to Soul, who was seated on the opposite end, next to his brother. He made no comment, neutrally chewing his food.

"Well anyhow," Wes resumed, turning to face Maka. "Our folks have lotsa respect for anything with your daddy's brand. No wonder my brother was glad to take the job," he grinned, leaning forward to look at Soul.

"That was coincidental," the younger Evans grumpily said around a dinner roll.

Patti, seated to Maka's left, guffawed. "That weren't how it sounded to me, Spitfire!"

Blake's cutlery scraped loudly across his plate. "Wait, whoa there. _Spit_fire?"

Maka watched Soul rub his face with the palm of his hand, anguished. "Pat, you damned traitor..."

Over the various snorts that broke out around the kitchen table, Wes happily clarified. "Yeah! 'Cause he hates spicy food. He gone and ate a hally-peenyo when he was but six, and just spewed like a 'lil machine gun-"

"I'd be much obliged if this conversation went in _any_ other direction."  
"Soul... you could've said something whenever I made enchiladas last week! I would've gone easier on the-"  
"Don't even worry about it, Sue, s'not a problem."  
"Are you blushin', brother?"  
"You touch my hat again and I'll tell Liz about The Collection."

Liz took a sip of her tea. "Oh, don't worry 'bout that darlin', I've already seen it."

Soul's entire body winced. "Believe I just lost my appetite."

"Lizabeth," Black Star said quietly, "Is it any good? OW."

Tsubaki placed her fork back on the table.

"So," Wes started up again, "Maka. Can I call you Maka?"

Of course he'd catch her mid-chew. She spoke behind her hand. "I... yes, that's fine."

"Lizzy tells me you're a fine roper like my kid brother," he accused, jerking a thumb at Soul.

Pride warred with unease at being the center of attention. "Well... I know where to keep my piggin' string, anyway." She pushed her green beans around on her plate with a fork as Wes gave a hearty laugh. Her eyes darted once more to Soul, who gave her a curious look.

"But I ain't seen you compete! From how Lizzy tells it, surely you'd place."

A flattered smile stretched across her face. _"__That_ may be," she shrugged. "But, I don't see much a point in competing if it's not coed."

Wes slowly nodded, eyes watching her carefully. "Fair enough. Well, I'm sure you could give Soul a run for his money," he beamed.

Maka heard Tsubaki snicker behind a napkin. She grit her teeth in a forced smile. "Hah, I don't think I can quite beat that championship time," she muttered.

"That six-one-one is somethin' else, ain't it? Far better than I could do. Though I'll tell you a bit," Wes said, leaning forward in a guise of confidentiality. "That horse is all the talent- throws the loop with her own teeth and cheats for 'im."

Maka bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

Soul's mouth stretched into a grim line. "I'm sittin' right here."

"Miss Sue, would you pass them great potatoes over here?"

Conversation drifted across multiple subjects, spanning from Blake and Tsubaki's coming child, Wes' next bullride, Mifune's constant silence being a front to steal all the string beans unnoticed, and the big dent in the side of Patti's Jeep that absolutely wasn't her fault. All the while, Maka found herself grinning widely at the group's animated, playful arguing, and kept noticing the quieter of the two Evans brothers glancing her way.

* * *

Notes:

chee-hooa-hooa: chihuahua. Patti kind of refuses to say it correctly.

hay bale hauler: imagine a pickup truck but with just a flat platform for the bed. Used to transport and dump hay in fields. Cows will realize the truck is a source of food, and will usually just follow the truck around, chasing the buffet.

noogie: Apply knuckles to top of sibling's head. Scrub liberally.

goober: like a gooey booger? Used as a term of endearment... sort of.

rat'ler: rattler. As in a rattlesnake. GET IT? SNAKES? EH? EEEHH?

Take a guess who Maddy Georgian is.


	3. Swingin' My Legs From A Dime

**Chapter 3: Swingin' My Legs From A Dime**

* * *

More notes to help you along at the bottom.

**Warning: **The end of this chapter (the part which is proceeded by the 'Courage' quote) has some mildly squicky gore, of the bovine variety. I've been told it's not that bad, but I still suggest not be in the middle of eating something, just to be safe.

I do not own Soul Eater, or Oreos.

* * *

**There ain't no way to get off a high horse gracefully.**

* * *

Maka came home late one evening, toting a bag of miscellaneous goods Patti had asked for. She walked over to the stables, having seen a light still on, and looked for the younger blonde.

"You stroppy _brat,_ jus' hold still for ten minutes," was what she heard before she turned the corner.

Peeking around the large barn door, she saw the farrier forge was lit before a cloud of steam laced with the smell of burning hair suddenly wafted into her face. When it cleared, her attention focused on the top of a hat. "Squirrel brain," Soul Evans growled, horseshoe nails held to one side of his mouth between his teeth. He was bent over in the middle of the stables, wearing Patti's farrier apron (decked in pink and brown giraffe print), one of Harley's rear hooves pulled back and resting between his thighs. He pulled a hot horseshoe away and examined the burned impression before releasing her leg. The mare's tail swatted at his head, smacking his hat.

"No, you can't go yet," he garbled around the nails, groaning as he straightened.

Maka watched the ranch hand immerse the hot shoe in a nearby bucket of water a few times, steam clouding up again. She figured now was a good time as any to speak up.

"Where'd Pat run off to?"

Soul froze in place, and she assumed this to mean she had startled him. His hat swivelled in her direction, but once again his eyes were in shadow. Maka raised an eyebrow, making a motion with her hand at her forehead, lifting an imaginary cowboy hat. With an irritated frown, he flicked the brim with a finger at her behest. "Mitch sent her home. Runnin' a fever," he said, turning his attention back to the horseshoe and carefully checking its temperature with his fingertips.

"Oh." Maka looked down at the contents of her paper sack of goods. "Hope she'll be alright."

Walking back to Harley with the cooled horseshoe, Soul ran a hand down the horse's leg and eased her foot back, straddling it once more. The mare smacked him with her tail again, but he ignored it, grabbing a nail from his mouth and hammering it through the shoe and into the hoof. "Liz and Wes are over there. She won't be alone." He twisted off the exposed end of the nail with the back of the hammer.

She hummed in acknowledgement. She was still not quite used to associating Soul's brother to both Liz's boyfriend and to the person she had met last week. Her head tilted to one side, watching Soul efficiently drive more nails into the shoe. He wasn't as quick as Patti, but there was a second-nature in his process. Maka had nothing else to say to him, but she stayed in curiosity, audience to his work. She tried to look less interested, walking over to Skully's stall and scratching the side of his face.

After adjusting the shoe's fit with tools she didn't know the name of, Soul released Harley's foot and untied her lead. "Alright, fine, git out," he said, and the horse turned around and knocked off his hat with her nose before eagerly going into her stall and rubbing her face on a post. "Weirdo," Soul accused. He gathered Patti's farrier gear. Without turning to face Maka, he asked, gesturing a hand towards her bag, "What's all that about?"

Her arm absently clenched around the bag, its contents shifting. "Pat asked me to pick up a few things while I was in town." She watched Soul warm his hands by the portable forge. "Do you... need help cleaning up? It's near supper time, I bet."

"Uh." He turned to look at her and, after a second, tilted his head up so his eyes were exposed. "Naw, don't worry 'bout it. I'll be in in a bit."

She nodded stiffly, bag crinkling in her hand as she gave Skully one last rub and turned to leave. Their interaction was awkward, but at least she hadn't called his horse a cow, and he hadn't called her dog a rat.

"Ah, um. Albarn."  
"...Yes?"

Side-lit by the hot forge, red lights tinted his clothes and bounced off his face. "After supper, if you have a minute..."

"A minute for what?" she asked dubiously, her bootheels pivoting on the ground to face him again.

Soul shifted uncomfortably, diverting his attention to the farrier forge and turned a valve to cut off the fuel supply. "Have a favor to ask."

Maka waited.

"...It can wait 'til after."

She huffed, her breath coming out in a frozen cloud. "But you can't ask me now," she confirmed, voice flat.

He looked somewhat embarrassed as he took off Patti's loud apron. "Just don't go straight off to bed, s'all I'm askin'," he bit out. "Now go on, I gotta clean this disaster." He turned, waving her off.

Maka scowled, confused and annoyed. Traitorously, her eyes are drawn to an old horseshoe hooked in the back pocket of his Wranglers. She angrily turned on her heel. "Whatever you say _Spitfire,_" she loudly replied, relishing Soul's silence.

She mentally cursed Tsubaki for bringing ranch hand butts to her attention. She had no intention on 'buttering' _anyone's_ 'biscuits'- whatever on earth _that_ meant- but ever since the general manager had started pestering her about Soul Evans' derriere, she was now more painfully aware of its existence as a result.

When she walked inside, shucking off her boots and placing them in a boot tray, she heard Japanese being quietly spoken. Mifune and Tsubaki conversed at the coffee table in the living room. Both were perusing financial records scattered across the table. Tsubaki held an opened letter in her hand.

Mifune (or 'Mitch' to just about everyone) often advised Tsubaki when it came to ranch business matters. He spoke and could converse in English easily, but to speak in his native tongue with the general manager was simpler and more natural.

Maka had still been a freshman at the time when Tsubaki, not wanting to leave after having completed high school through an exchange program, had asked Suzanne Albarn to stay and work for the ranch. As a result, Mifune, in his early twenties, had been flown in from Japan with the instruction to bring the Nakatsukasa daughter back home and carry out an arranged marriage.

Tsubaki refused, wanting to choose her own life. Mifune was relieved, having no romantic inclinations towards anyone at all. And, because Mama had never been one to turn a stray away, Suzanne gave them both work when their respective families cut off financial ties.

Now the general manager and the foreman, the two shuffle papers around, comparing numbers in a combination of English and Japanese. Over the years, Maka had picked up on a few foreign words and phrases, but she tried not to make it a habit to eavesdrop. She was, however, quick to notice Mifune's stern posture, and the crinkle of Tsubaki's forehead as she took off her reading glasses.

"_How that woman does it, I can not understand,"_ was all Maka caught Tsubaki tiredly say before she walked into the kitchen, carrying her paper bag. She wondered what was going on, and made a worrisome mental note to ask later.

At the sink, Blake was washing his hands, whistling. "Heya, shortstack."

"Hi _Loud._ What's for supper?" Maka asked, smelling something savory and comforting emanating from the oven.

"Only the best thing ever. What's in the bag?"

Maka had forgotten she'd been carrying it entirely. "Oh. Pat's stuff. Some saddle oil, curry combs, Oreos, you know."

"**Oreos?"**

"Actually," she said as she placed the bag on the counter and pulled out a blue package, "these are mine. And you can't have them."

"Says who?"  
"Says, oh you cheating sack of-!"

It was when Blake Strickland was dangling the stolen package of Oreos twenty stories too high above her head that Soul entered, holding open the back door for Spirit Albarn to walk in.

Maka's father carried a warped, beat up, cardboard file box that looked entirely too laden with reading material to be structurally sound for much longer.

"Papa," she greeted, arm still extended in the air, grasping for the package of cookies. She pointedly ignored Soul's quizzical look. "You're home," she said, surprised. Ever since looking into the goings-on at Lazy S, her father had been very much absent most evenings.

"So're you," he replied, setting the heavy box on a counter top while Soul shut the door behind them. He gave a small grin, blue eyes flitting up to the Oreos in Blake's hand. "Them for me?"

Her voice squeaked, emphatic with her irritation, _"No!"_

"No, they're mine," Blake said causally, wincing when Maka elbowed him in the gut.

From the living room, Tsubaki and Mifune walked in, the former of the two saying, "Oh, you made it just in time for supper, boss."

Spirit took off his hat and hung it on a peg near the door. Next to it, he hung his gun holster as he made a show of sniffing the air. "I'd rather get trampled than miss your pot pie, Sue- you know that," he said as he walked up the stairs. Over the handrail, he shot to Blake, "You'd best give my cookies back to my daughter."

"They're not yours," she huffed. Then she noticed Soul still standing at the backdoor, the front of his hat directed at the gun holster hanging on the wall. Maka stifled a snort and walked away from Blake to set the table.

"Aw, it's no fun when you give up."

"I don't give up," she chirped, grabbing a stack of plates. "I get even."

Blake gave her a wary frown that attested to his personal experience. "Eh." He tossed to package to the counter. Mifune sidled up nearby and proceeded to nonchalantly peel open the Oreo package and steal a cookie. Blake looked appalled, head flipping back and forth between the foreman and Maka. "What, so it's okay if _he_ takes one?"

"Yeah."  
"Thanks, Maka."  
"You're welcome."  
"What the _hell?_"

Supper was a subdued event; most everyone was too busy stuffing their faces with Tsubaki's cooking to carry on a full conversation. Maka, not having realized how ravenous she'd been, finished quickly and before everyone else. As she blinked at her empty plate, Soul's request for a moment with her after eating rang in the back of her head.

Well, he was still eating. _Everyone_ was still eating. She stood to put her plate in the sink, and she saw Soul's brief, discrete glance, which kindled a flame of paranoia in her. What did he want to talk about so badly?

"Finished already, Maka?" Tsubaki asked.

"Ah, yeah. It was really good, thank you. I'm gonna... take a shower." She excused herself, noting the lack of verbal reminder from Evans. What, so he'd shoot her a look across the table, but wouldn't mention anything in front of other people? She liked this less and less.

As Maka climbed up the stairs to her bedroom, she liked the sly look Tsubaki gave her even less.

Actually, she had already taken a shower that morning before she left for the vet. She was wasting water to kill time for reasons she wasn't sure she wanted to understand. After her needless shower and running a comb through her damp hair, she exited the bathroom in sweat pants and a loose-fitting t-shirt, towel wrapped around her neck.

Somehow, she wasn't surprised to hear the most agitated 'psst' she'd ever heard in her life while passing the stairway on the way to her bedroom. Maka paused, slowly turning her head to look down the flight. Soul stood at the bottom.

"Can I come up?"

A flabbergasted noise gurgled out of her open mouth. She didn't know how to handle his weird politeness at all. She also felt like she'd somehow been transported back to middle school, when boys found out about cooties. Maka rolled her eyes. "What am I, Rapunzel?" she muttered, stalking off to her room.

She didn't hear his footsteps creaking up the stairs, so she called out a loud, resigned, _"YES."_ Maka dumped her dirty clothes into her personal hamper before putting her face in her hands, groaning. She was frustrated about everything remotely related to Soul; it was a lot easier when she could guiltlessly hate him.

"You okay?" he asked, and she let her hands melt off her face as she turned to face him. He leaned on her door frame, refusing to enter this area too.

Maka sighed, sitting on her bed and scrubbing the towel in her hair. "M'fine... what did you need?"

Soul hooked a thumb into his pocket. "Sue tells me you have a laptop?"

She blinked, not expecting all of Soul's embarrassed hedging around his favor to be about something this benign. "Y-yes? Do you need to look up something?"

"Sort-of?"

"Our internet is pretty slow, but it'll get the job done. You ca- **wait. **_Sue?_" Maka questioned, face contorting into suspicion. Soul didn't reveal anything though, other than confusion. His head turned slightly, quirking an ear closer to her, expecting a less vague question than just the general manager's name.

"S'that bad?"

She wasn't sure, but she had a feeling Tsubaki was trying to arrange certain biscuits. "Ehhh, nevermind," she mumbled, throwing her towel into the hamper. "Let me put in the password and you can do whatever. What do you need to look up?" Maka asked, unplugging her laptop from its charging cable at her night stand and prying it open. She sat back down on her bed, computer in her lap, and looked at him expectantly.

Rolling a shoulder, Soul hesitated before answering. "Could we... do this somewhere not _here_?"

Maka frowned. She glanced around her room, which might be slightly cluttered, but was more or less clean and maybe somewhat utilitarian. "What's wrong with here," she challenged in monotone.

"S'not that," he clarified. He carefully looked over his shoulder a moment. "Just like to make it through the day without gettin' shot," he muttered.

It took her a moment to make sense of this, but when she did, she tilted her body to one side to see around the ranch hand. Down the hallway, she saw her father glowering at Soul's back, paused at the top of the stairs. Maka narrowed her eyes at Spirit, who noticed and casually turned around, making his way to his bedroom at the opposite end of the hallway.

She sighed again.

* * *

**Nothin' keeps you more honest than witnesses.**

* * *

Deciding that the living room would deter an overprotective father-figure from taking the law into his own hands due to potential witnesses hanging around in the kitchen, Maka relocated her laptop. She sprawled on the floor, gently playing with Crona, while Soul sat on the couch, hunched over her little laptop on the coffee table.

She sincerely hoped that he was too busy hunting and pecking at the keys to read her search history. A conversation regarding why his name was in the history of his employer's daughter's computer was something she would like to avoid at all costs. "So," she said, her voice presenting too uncharacteristically friendly, "What're you, uh, looking for?" She tried to distract her anxiety by taking an Oreo from the package sitting next to the laptop.

Maka heard him take a deep breath. "...My brother," he admitted. "I missed his last ride at the stock show. He said it was probably online somewhere, so..."

She paused, mid-chew. "Oh!" Soul looked up from the screen at her voice. "S'on YouTube, prolly," she garbled, mouth full. She shuffled around the table on her knees, carrying Crona in an arm. Maka had forgotten about the bull ride Wes had talked about when he was there last. She wanted to see it, too.

Soul slowly navigated to the video site, stalling when his brother's name popped up in the search bar as he typed.

"A-ahah, haha," Maka laughed nervously before he could ask. "Liz kept going on and on about him, so I just..."

He said nothing, but the side of his mouth picked up in a lopsided smile. It faded when he was assaulted by all the videos of his brother that existed. She suggested to sort by date and Soul clicked the most recent video. She grudgingly offered him an Oreo as they waited for the video to buffer.

Maka knew the basics of bull riding, which merely consisted of not using one hand and not falling off to be trampled and/or gored to death. Soul, on the other hand, had a lot more knowledge and emotional investment on the subject. In her peripheral, she noticed his intense attention as he watched the video, nearly glued to the screen. He grimaced at things Maka could not pick up on.

He leaned back when Wes was awarded a giant belt buckle for his efforts. "Huh," he said.

"Hm?"  
"That was Rag."

Rag? _Rag._ "Ragnarok? The- that- your bull?" she asked, inelegantly.

Soul nodded. "Guess he's back to normal."

He didn't elaborate further, and she wasn't sure if it was her place to ask about something she knew almost nothing about. Before she could dwell on it, Soul was already searching for something else. He typed in 'Wes Evans Stock Show Calf Roping', and Maka nearly choked.

"What?" she blurted. "He roped in the show?"

"He conveniently left that out, didn't he," Soul quietly said, amused. "Actually, he took my place."

The video buffered. "So, you _didn't _go." He nodded once. Maka fidgeted on the floor next to his feet. She gave him a pained glance. "I'll fess up. I'd been, ah, _curious_ if you'd compete there or not."

Soul paused in the middle of rubbing his nose. "Naw, I hate the stock show." Maka's eyebrows furrowed. Seeing this, he set his hand in his lap and gave a small shrug. "Loud. Crowded. Tourists. Not my kinda thing, I guess."

Her attention was drawn away by the discordant cheering from the laptop. In the video, a calf ran out into the arena, closely followed by Wes atop a paint horse. Leaning closer to the table, Maka faintly heard Soul say behind her, "Oh man, _what_ are you doing?"

Wes Evans' roping technique was far from polished. "Who taught him to rope?" she asked.

"Not me," the hand replied. They both cringed when Wes fumbled with the piggin' string, the calf's legs tangling up his hard work. Soul's voice sounded entertained. "How'd they even let him _in _there?"

After the sub-par roping, Wes untied the rope from his horse's saddle and rode to the cameraman. He said something with a wry smile, but Maka's speakers were too quiet.

"Wait," Soul murmured, pausing the video. "Go back. What's he say?"

Maka reached across the laptop to turn up the volume when Soul couldn't find the means. She moved the video back a few seconds. They both leaned in slightly, listening. Over the laughing crowd, Wes said, "That one was for you, Spitfire, I hope yer happy!"

She watched Soul tuck his chin to his chest, leaning back to cover his grinning face with an arm as he quietly cracked up. She found herself smiling with him. "How big is he into revenge?"

The top of his hat moved from side to side. "I'm a dead man," he managed to say between snorts. "Bet that was on TV, too."

Maka laughed. "Even Black Star's better than that."

Soul attempted to compose himself, shutting the laptop and standing. "Don't tell him that to his face, you'll break his heart," he said with a smile he didn't bother hiding. "I better get. Ah," he sobered, his lips forming into an awkward not-quite-frown. "Thanks, 'preciate it."

"Sure," she said, letting her eyes fall to the Chihuahua in her lap. "Anytime."

"G'night."  
"Night, Soul."

She didn't look up to see if he made any kind of acknowledgement to the use of his name. She heard him chuckle on the way out the back door.

Very briefly she wondered if that was how he acted when he was with people that didn't judge him before meeting him.

* * *

Almost bored to tears, Maka was finally excused from her veterinary duties by Miranda. She'd had plenty of practice vaccinating animals and bottle-feeding newborn critters, and seeing as it was the last day of her weekly shift, her mentor had practically shoved her out of the building.

She hurried home, windshield wipers furiously working to keep up with the heavy spring rainfall she drove into. It'd been nearly three days since Maka had noticed one of the first-calf heifers starting to separate from the herd, giving signs that she was about to go into labor.

She came home to twins.

"Argh! I missed it!" Maka exclaimed as she walked into the barn, where Mifune and Blake were trying to bottle-feed the two newborns without getting rained on.

Blake scoffed, tilting his head in an attempt to get his calf to do the same and facilitate nursing more easily. "I dunno why you're so upset, you've seen it a million times already."

She ignored this. "The mother?"

"Wouldn't take to either of them," Mifune said. "We'll wait a bit."

Blake stood up and handed his half-empty feeding jug to Maka. "Since you're here. I gotta get back out. Soul's pullin' another one."

She pivoted, watching him exit the barn and rain shoot off the brim of his hat. "A-another one?" she asked, incredulous, but Blake just waved and jogged away. She made her way to the second calf, plopping down in some hay next to Mifune. Not only was she back to feeding newborns, she noted with displeasure, but she was again reminded that her absence on the ranch kept her out of the loop she used to dominate.

"He noticed this morning. One of the cows. You couldn't've known, you were already gone."

"Mm," she grunted, petulant. The little calf clumsily suckled on the large nipple of the jug. She knew Mifune was trying to make her feel better, but it only made her more frustrated. She didn't like feeling disconnected from her mama's land.

* * *

Over the next several weeks, the majority of Angel's End's gestating stock had calved, mostly without major incident. Maka was caught between home and school, the only constant between both schedules being some variety of meal. She was either nursing baby calves, trying to stay awake at the supper table, or meeting her father for lunch in town.

She was beginning to worry about her father. The past few days she'd noticed the slight furrow between his brows, and the frequency in which he would zone out of a conversation, deep in thought. Maka had a feeling it had something to do with that cardboard file box, which she rarely saw him without. If the box wasn't in his hands as he walked in the door at home, it was sitting in his patrol car.

On a particular Wednesday lunch, he'd received a phone call. Spirit Albarn excused himself from the table, stepping outside to talk on his scratched, outdated flip-phone. Maka watched with veiled interest when he re-entered the diner, calling Elizabeth Thompson over. The young woman's face drained of color as he exchanged words with her. He gave her a supportive pat on the shoulder, and she tersely nodded her head. Liz then turned to face the front window as Spirit walked back to the table.

"Sorry, sweets," he said gruffly. "But I need to go." He unfolded a few bills and tossed them on the table, ignoring Maka's complaints of being able to pay her own meal. After much apology and a hug, she dully waved goodbye, confused and worried. She was already done with her food, but she hung around a little longer, filling out the paperwork Nygus had given her this week while keeping one eye on Liz's stiff behavior.

Fifteen minutes later, Liz took her break. The older woman sat across from Maka in the booth, and waited for her to look up. "Momma's out on parole," she said darkly.

A pregnant silence sat heavily between them. Maka, not knowing what to say to this, nudged her ice water over to Liz, who took an unfeeling sip. "...Where is she gonna stay?"

"Where else?" the woman sourly said.

"Is that- Do you think she's she gonna...?"

Liz shook her head. "If she contests it, there ain't no way. I'd hafta get a _lawyer_, Maka. I can't afford that!"

Maka drummed her fingers on the table. "Surely there's some way. There's gotta be somebody."

Dabbing carefully under her mascara-coated eyes with a paper napkin, Liz scowled. "Pat's gonna be _hell,"_ she said, voice thick.

* * *

Liz called it correctly. The normally outspoken and free-spirited Patti had gone cold as stone. When Maka arrived home later that evening, Tsubaki gave a recount of the events that had transpired in her absence over rhubarb pie.

"Kyle's the one that dropped her off in the police car. She was supposed to go to the girls' place, but the locks were changed and her key didn't work," Tsubaki smiled, chewing and swallowing. "She came here for Pat, instead." She thoughtfully cut off a bite from her slice of pie with the side of her fork. "It's been a long time since I've seen her go quiet like that. No 'hi' or smile or anything. Just gone. She put her things up and drove her momma home."

"Liz is worried Tina's not going to give up custody rights," Maka quietly said.

"By the way she was acting, I wouldn't be surprised. She was trying _really_ hard to get into good favor with Pat. With all of us."

"Of course she was," Blake said, walking into the kitchen. "If Pat has a good payin' job, all she gotta do is sit back and reap the benefits." He peeled off his work gloves and tucked them into the side of his belt.

"Black Star," Tsubaki tiredly pleaded, as if she had heard this particular tirade already today.

"Tell me it ain't _exactly_ what she did with Liz the last time."

Maka blankly regarded her little saucer of pie. The Thompson sisters were exactly that- she considered them her own siblings. All of Angel's End thought of them as family, ever since Mama took them in when Cristina Thompson served jail time for possession and multiple DUI's. Patti had only been five at the time, following Maka around the ranch, finding another sister to cling to.

Liz, being nearly eleven years Patti's senior, looked up to Suzanne Albarn, and worked hard at her various part-time jobs under her guidance. While their biological mother was absent, Liz cared for her sister with very little financial help at all.

After Cristina Thompson served her time, she came back into their lives, repentant and eager to make amends. It had only lasted so long before she took over her elder daughter's income to return to her bad habits, landing herself in prison for a longer sentence. Since then, the woman had popped in and out, going from prison to rehab and back again. As a result, Patti grew up with very little interaction with the woman and, now that she was making a small income of her own and was still a minor, Maka couldn't feel optimistic about the situation.

"Is there nothing we can do?" she asked no one in particular.

In reply, the back door wrenched open, revealing Soul Evans. "Is Maka-" he started to say, which tripped Maka's concentration a bit, hearing him use her name. "You're here," he blinked. "Mitch wants you," he blurted.

She was confused, but already up on her feet. "What's happened?"

"Prolapse."

* * *

**Courage is being scared to death and saddling up anyway.**

* * *

Maka held her head to the side a moment, trying to breathe evenly and keep the world from spinning the wrong way. Soul steadily held a spotlight while she and Mifune did their best to slowly, carefully put the cow's insides _back_ inside. Uterine Prolapse was the given term for female reproductive organs essentially turning inside out. The cow had recently given a successful birth, but sometimes, on rare occasions, things like this happened. The best anyone could do on short notice was to ease the uterus back into the animal, stitch her up, and hope for the best. Waiting for a vet to drive out as far as their ranch was would only prolong the animal's suffering, so Angel's End was usually tasked with dealing with this personally.

It took a fair amount of strength to put everything right, fighting the pained animal's muscles and the slick mud that spring rains had gifted them. Mifune had administered painkillers to the critter, but Maka couldn't imagine the whole ordeal feeling very pleasant regardless.

The both of them were up to their gloved elbows in blood, but after half an hour, the cow's innards were at least no longer outwards. Mifune gave a high dose of antibiotics while Maka sewed up the business end of the cow. When she was finished, she exchanged nods with Mifune, turned around, and walked away, face schooled into stone.

She didn't stop until she arrived at the nearest water spigot to the pasture, which was attached to the side of the guest house. She systematically peeled off her long gloves, pooled water into her hands, and splashed her face. She took water into her mouth and spit it back out. She splashed her face once more, turned the water off, and heavily sat on the porch.

Maka stared into the night, watching Soul's spotlight move around in the dark until her heart calmed.

The night sky was clear of rain clouds for the first time in awhile. The steady presence of the multitude of stars held her in place, easing the churning in her stomach. Cool air filled her lungs and, after awhile, Soul Evans found her on his porch.

"Hey."  
"Hi. Sorry I ran off."

"No," he said, voice sincere. "You did your share. I was 'jus standin' there like a... clueless lamppost."

"You helped," she said to the sky. Frogs quietly chirped in the distance, and she heard him sit down a few paces away, stretching out his legs.

In the silence, she heard his unasked question. "Mama usually handled stuff like that. Then Papa. Now me."

"You've done that before?"

She shook her head, but she wasn't sure he saw it so she said, "No. I'd only ever watched."

He said nothing on this. "She's already up and around. I'm sure she'll be fine in a few days."

She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. The stars didn't move.

"I dunno if it means much coming from me, ...but you did good."

Maka shut her eyes, Polaris burned into her vision, steadfast, supportive. "Thank you," she said, and stood up.

* * *

Some combination of muscle memory and the aftertaste of stress made her dream of inverted organs, and she woke too early in the morning. She ate a slice of pie and went back to bed, thoughts lingering on the cow, the twin calves nursing on surrogate mothers when their own had refused them, and the Thompson sisters.

She thought of her father, his comforting hand on Liz's shoulder, his partiality to Oreos.

She dreamed of the tree Mama was buried under, her headstone unmoving like the stars.

* * *

Notes:

stroppy: irritable, easily annoyed

farrier: one trained in cleaning up and shoeing horse hooves

farrier forge: a portable device to fire and heat up horseshoes to make them malleable.

farrier apron: picture like... heavy duty chinks with useful pockets and strappies

(chinks: basically chaps that stop just below the knee)

curry combs: a little rubber scrubby brush used for horse grooming

first-calf heifer: a pregant cow that's never given birth before.

'pullin' another one': sometimes cows giving birth need help.

'one of the cows': as opposed to a heifer. Cows that have already given birth once generally have an easier (and less obvious) labor in subsequent pregnancies.

Polaris: The North Star. Commonly used as a guide for navigation (a lodestar).


	4. He's Handier Than A Pocket On A Shirt

This is the boring calf roping chapter. But there's quite a bit more Soul and Maka interaction in this one.

**Warning:** this chapter has some questionable food choices (read: Rocky Mountain Oysters).

A few notes at the bottom to help you along, and also a notice regarding this fic.

I do not own Soul Eater.

* * *

Maka was sipping her steaming mug of coffee one Saturday morning, huddled up in her father's oversized jacket draped over her sleeping clothes. She sat in a squeaking rocking chair on the back porch. Thick fog had settled on the property, the lights coming from the guest house's windows bouncing off the mist. She watched Soul Evans exit his quarters and start up his truck. She walked back into the kitchen after he pulled away.

"Where's he gone?" she asked Tsubaki, not bothering with pretending she wasn't curious about the ranch hand, seeing as the older woman would have preemptively assumed it regardless. "Aren't we working calves today?"

Tsubaki scooped a combination of hashed browns, onions, and scrambled eggs into a large tortilla. "He's coming right back," she said with a frown, sprinkling shredded cheese onto the burrito. "Pat needs rides now."

Maka poured the remaining contents of her coffee in the sink. Rinsing the mug, she watched the running water overflow. "Her Jeep break down again?" she asked hopefully.

Rolling up the burrito and wrapping it up in aluminum foil, Tsubaki replied, "It's under... new management."

"Really." Maka set her cup in the bottom of the sink, incredulous. "She took the Jeep but won't give her daughter a ride to work."

The splat of another spoonful of filling landing on a fresh tortilla accurately described Tsubaki's countenance.

* * *

For Maka, starting a day of working calves began with donning clothes that she didn't mind getting soiled beyond all recognition. This was followed by pulling her hair up into its usual ponytail. An old baseball cap went over this, as cowboy hats weren't friendly with her hairstyle of choice.

She descended the stairs and grabbed two breakfast burritos and her boots on the way out the back door. Her shoes were finally starting to feel worn in. She retrieved a few things from the tack shed before heading to the stables. Maka was glad to see her rope was still in good shape despite the dreary weather.

Patti had arrived on the ranch sometime while Maka had been getting dressed. The young woman appeared to be more or less acting normal, if not looking a little tired in the face. She already had Harley and Blake's horse, Excalibur, saddled and waiting, and was putting Maka's rig on Skully.

"Ah, thanks," Patti said when Maka handed her spare burrito to her.

"How're you holding up?" she asked, adjusting the fit of her chinks.

Patti gave her a bright smile, though it wasn't at her usual wattage. "Kin I move in with ya'll? Like, I promise I won't take up more space'n yer closet."

Maka winced. "That bad?"

Patti only rubbed her hand down Skully's bald face, smile muted. Off to the side, Harley wuffled at her rider's approach, while Excalibur reached over with his long neck and yanked Maka's ponytail.

"Wuah!" she whirled around, glaring at the chestnut Arabian. "You scrawny butthead!" Blake's horse tilted his head to the side and grinned. Maka heard Patti's stifled laugh and turned back around. Adjusting her hair, she said, "You sure you wanna live here? You'll be surrounded by idiots."

"Maybe you should take to wearin' scarves like Spitfire over there," the horse wrangler said, tilting her chin in Soul's direction.

"S'not a _scarf__,"_ he insisted as he finished buckling his chaps. When he hopped the corral, Maka's eyes flitted to the coiled rope he draped to one side of Harley's saddle horn. Intense interest plagued her, so she glanced away, hoping her anticipation of watching Soul rope later wasn't plastered on her face plain as day.

"Well," she said, attempting to stay on topic. "I'd rather the horse grab my hair than my _bra __strap__,"_ she scowled over her shoulder at Excalibur. _"__Again__."_

With a bored expression, Patti yanked open the collar of her blouse and looked straight down to her generous assets. "Yeah, s'why I get the kind that buttons in the front."

Upon hearing this, Soul made an indescribable noise, pulling his hat low over his brow. "Gonna pretend I didn't see that. Mitch already started the fire, ya'll better get movin'," he said, looking pained as he led his mare out of the gate.

Patti rolled her eyes. "Like you never seen a brassiere!"

He shot back, "That ain't _never_ gonna be your business!"

Shaking her head as Soul mounted and rode off, she adopted a thoughtful look. "He ain't like his brother at all," she said, cracking a smile when Maka choked.

Digging into her back pocket, Maka pulled out her truck's keys, hoping it would help keep Patti in a better mood. "Here. So you don't have to hoof it yourself to come watch."

"Ooh!"

* * *

**If you don't know where you're going, your horse will decide for you.**

* * *

After the process of separating the calves of the desired age group from their mothers and herding them into the working pen, Maka and Soul were on roping duty, while and Blake and Mifune ran the fire, branding, immunizing, and, when necessary, castrating. Patti had pulled up in Maka's truck to watch the proceedings. She sat on the top rung of the pipe fence, enjoying her breakfast burrito.

It took ten to fifteen minutes for the team to establish a proper rhythm with Evans, but thereafter things went smoothly. On horseback, he and Maka kept a steady stream of calves in queue for the two men working the ground.

This was all well and good, but Maka soon found that Soul roped completely differently on the job than in the arena. That six-point-eleven was naught but a horse fart on a breeze; if it was possible for a man to look both alert and asleep on a horse, Soul Evans had mastered the ability.

Hands down, she was utterly baffled. For Maka, roping a calf went particularly so: find a target, work with one's horse to separate it from the group, throw the rope (preferably for the back feet, but the neck was also acceptable), and have the horse drag the calf to the ground team.

Soul, on the other hand, for all Maka could tell, boredly sat in the saddle with his coiled rope held in a lazy hand, and let his horse prance around wherever the damn hell she pleased. Just when Maka was starting to worry that Mifune and Blake would have to be waiting on Soul's slow work, he would throw his rope in a seemingly random direction, and drag another calf to the fire. There was never any lag in the queue to speak of.

After about an hour of watching him and being unable to explain his actions, Maka finally rode to the side of the pen, where Patti was sitting and idly kicking a rail with the back of her muddy boot. The young girl had a big grin on her face, which faltered upon seeing Maka's furrowed brow.

"What?"

Maka tilted her head marginally in the other roper's direction. Her horse curiously sniffed Patti's swinging foot. "I don't get it," she admitted, voice pitched low for only the horse wrangler to hear.

Patti blinked. "What's to get? She's great!"

Now Maka was confused more than ever. She glanced back at Soul, who appeared to be staring out into space. Looking back at Patti, she was afraid to ask the obvious.

"The _horse__,"_ the girl said flatly. "Well, Soul's good too, but..." She shook her head with a frown, as if unable to believe that such a horse existed.

Before she could ask Patti any questions, Soul had roped another calf and it was her turn. With an irritated huff, she directed Skully to keep pace with a stray critter while she cleanly roped it by a heel, dragging it to the fire just as Soul's last calf was done being worked. Once hers was free of the lariat, Maka recoiled her rope and rode back to Patti at the fence.

The girl had a smug smile that Maka couldn't interpret. She got right down to business, though. "So anyway, watch 'em. I know it don't look like a whole lot, but they're both workin'. Look, look," she quietly announced in earshot as Maka determinedly watched Evans go through his lazy routine. "See?"

"See _what__?"_

Patti huffed. "Where're yer eyes? Lookit, he's pointin' that mare at the calves. When she figures it out, she'll flex back and- there, you see?"

Just then, Harley turned her head to one side, far enough to tap Soul's stirrup with her nose. She'd seen the horse do this a few times the past hour, but she hadn't thought much about it, more focused on Harley's rider and his lethargy.

The horse wrangler continued. "She's **great,"** Patti restated. "She's gotta lotta cow-sense. Like you, yanno?" Maka clenched her teeth at once again being compared to that irritating beast. "She knows what they're gonna do. Watch her."

Harley sneaked her way around the group of calves, cutting through them to single out a calf and separate it from the herd. She stretched her neck and paced it, keeping the animal from returning to the group.

"That's all her. All he's doin' is hangin' on and waitin' for a good shot," Patti said simply.

Sure enough, just when Maka would personally throw her rope, Soul let his loop fly. After having the process explained to her by someone who spoke horse better than human, her mouth fell slightly open in dismay.

"She really _does_ do all the work!" she exclaimed, remembering Wes Evans' words. Patti gave an amused giggle.

"I gotta get 'er to foal at least once," she murmured. "Just once! S'all I ask. It'd be the best cuttin' horse there _ever_ was," Patti said, voice reverent, before she hunched over, elbows on knees, placing her chin in her hands. She'd gone into intense thinking mode, and Maka knew when to take her leave before getting caught up in a lengthy discussion of horse genetics. It was her turn to rope again anyhow.

A handful of calves later, and Maka was already back to the railing once she noticed Patti's feet had gone back to swinging idly again. "Pat, what's with that boot touch thing?"

The younger blonde tilted her head to one side as she watched Soul rope the last calf. "Well, his horse was a stubborn butthead. Is. Is a stubborn butthead," she corrected. She nodded to Maka's horse for comparison. "Skully's a fair bit easier. You drive him, he goes. He don't care. _Harley _rose hell just for puttin' a saddle on 'er. So, he taught her to flex. Makes a horse stop'n pay attention, 'coz the rider's in charge and won't give up slack 'til it listens."

The two women watched as Blake branded and Mitch inoculated the calf. Across the working pen, Maka noticed the brim of Soul's hat pointed in her direction, as if knowing he and his horse were being discussed out of earshot. She looked away just in time to see Patti waving goofily at him with her tongue sticking out.

"Anyway, she got the hang of that after 'while, and _then_ she jus' figured out it was a good way to talk. Without him tuggin' on the rein, she'll tap him. Specially when she's **bored.** I bet he's regrettin' it, 'coz she's a right spoiled brat," she laughed. A little louder, she said, "Yes we're talkin' 'bout yer _horse, _get over it!"

This was the moment Blake decided to chuck a calf nut in the girls' direction. It sailed in front of Maka's face and landed on Patti's knee.

"Aw, you sonnuva-"

Maka re-coiled her rope as she wisely nudged Skully forward and out of the line of fire. She watched as even Mifune joined in on the 'fun', contributing to the effort of keeping Patti in high spirits. Maka hung her rope off the saddle, took off a glove, and somberly pulled flecks of mud out of Skully's mane.

Her mind wandered to the Thompson family, uneasiness regarding Patti's future settling into her body. Everyone on Angel's End was aware of the girl's strained attempt to act her usual self.

Before she could get too far deep in thought, her horse was greeting Harley. Soul casually rode up alongside Maka, watching the projectiles fly across the pen.

"Hey."

She shifted in her saddle, still not quite sure what kind of attitude to adopt around this man. She settled for a calculative neutral. "What's up?" she replied, going back to plucking at Skully's mane. Maka heard nothing in reply for awhile, and she wondered if he was gonna spit anything out at all.

After Blake's loud laughter, Soul finally said, "Rope something."

Skeptically, Maka turned her head to the side and frowned at him. Why in heaven's name would the district roping champion ask her to rope anything? Scratch that, he hadn't even _asked__._

He seemed to recall something suddenly, because knocked his hat out of his eyes and said, "If, ah, it's alright with you."

...Well, she didn't _think_ he was out to ridicule her abilities. She twisted her mouth to one side, deciding to humor him, even if he sucked at saying 'please'. "What should I rope?"

"Don't matter. Rope Pat, I guess."

They both glanced at Patti, who threw a fastball at Mifune's behind with a battle cry.

"Uh-uh. I'm not getting sucked into bovine organ warfare."

"No?" His face cracked into a crooked grin. Maka shook her head vigorously, her lips sucked into a tight line to keep from smiling back. "Ah well. Truthful, I just wanna see ya swing. Don't really have to rope nothin'."

"Oh," she replied dumbly, slightly embarrassed with the idea that he'd want to watch her do anything at all. "I can do that easily enough." Maka picked up her rope once more, guiding Skully to a spot more out of the way so she had room to swing a loop over her head. She hoped that the battle of calf nuts wouldn't interrupt her, but would also continue violently enough that the participants wouldn't notice her steadily reddening face.

Just this once she wished Soul Evans would tug his hat too far down his brow so she couldn't watch him watching her. She placed her spare coils in one hand, leaving some slack to the loop in her other. She probably should have put her gloves back on. Muscle memory took over, her elbow and wrist smoothly swinging the rope above her head.

She saw him nod once, and she stopped. "Hold on a 'sec," he said loudly enough for her to hear, which made her shoulders stiffen, because he was also loud enough for everyone else to hear as well. She dared not to look in the ground crew's direction and draw attention to herself. Maka curiously watched Soul maneuver his horse to stand facing her directly. "Now, swing like you're goin' for a back leg," he directed.

It dawned on her abruptly that she could count on one hand how many times she'd watched Soul rope a calf by the leg today. Everything else he'd thrown had been around the neck. Maka began to swing again, adjusting the angle so the loop dipped low to the right and high on the left. Soul watched her for several long seconds, and she was grateful when he nodded, because her arm was starting to tire.

He was looking at his left hand, rotating it slowly in imitation of her. She realized this was why he was facing her directly- Soul was left-handed while she was right. It was easier for him to learn with a mirror. Maka nudged Skully forward, hanging her rope again. When she was close enough to not have to raise her voice, she asked, "Help at all?"

Soul's head suddenly jerked in her direction, pulled out of concentration. "Ah, need some work," he said wryly. His hand fell to his lap. "Your heel-loop's good. I like how you throw."

Well, if she hadn't been blushing before, she was now. She laughed uneasily. "Thanks? You're the roping champion, though," she said, a shade bitter.

"Eh. That don't matter in here," he replied. "Fast is nothin' if it's easier on everyone to catch 'em by the leg."

Coming up with no sensible thing to say to this, Maka heard herself say, "That's true." This was not good. In very quiet horror, she tamped down the small, grudging glimmer of admiration that made itself known in her gut.

"Anyway, thanks."

Now she had the urge to hide under the bill of her own hat. "Sure." She became acutely aware of the eerie silence in the surrounding area, and she worriedly glanced to where she'd last seen the calf nut warriors. The pen was empty save for a still-smoldering fire pit.

"_Ahem__."_

Without Maka knowing, Patti had hauled herself back to the top rung of the fence, all mud and smiles. Mifune and Blake were already on horseback, the latter cowboy also in various states of filth. Patti was swinging Maka's truck keys around her finger.

"It's oyster time," she airily informed them. "That is, if yer not too busy gettin' flustered over each other's loops."

Soul harrumphed, backing up his horse and making his way out of the working pen without a word. Between the flush on the back of his neck and the smug grin on Patti's face, Maka briefly considered the idea of the younger Thompson sister being Soul Evans' personal Tsubaki.

* * *

**There ain't no oysters in the Rocky Mountains.**

* * *

Lunch (or 'Dinner', in the South) was pandemonium. Tsubaki happily took a break from the record books to prepare her legendary Calf Fries while her husband made a scene of the kitchen, daring the new ranch hand to try a cowboy delicacy.

"They're not legendary. I just searched the internet," she said, coating the morning's haul in batter.

"Plus, oyster's a natural afra-deezy-ack," Blake added, elbowing Soul in the side.

Maka, seated at the table, put her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "That's only _real_ oysters, you empty socket."

Blake playfully hissed at her, whispering, "I know it, but don't let the _missus_ know!"

Tsubaki said nothing, her long, dark ponytail waving from side to side as she shook her head and dipped the 'oysters' into hot oil. Soul, looking both bemused and uncomfortable, said, "Can't say it looks very appetizing. No offence, Sue."

"None taken!"

Scoffing, Blake looked Soul up and down, skeptical. "How long you been cowboyin'? And you never ate calf nuts."

"Pop did, but, uh..."

"It's okay, I've never had them either," Maka cut in. "Black Star hogs them all for reasons that _should __not __be __discussed __at __the __supper __table__,_" she growled at Blake, who sat in the chair next to her and made a mocking face. He then gestured towards Tsubaki, imitated her pregnant belly with a hand, and gave a smug thumbs up.

Patti smacked him on the back of his head.

"Thanks, Pat," Tsubaki said, facing the stove.

"Ye'welcome!"

"Eyes! I swear it, they're in the back of her 'ead," Blake grumbled. "A'right, fine! Seein' as I'm a generous fella of immeasurable ability, I will forfeit my portion to ya'll greenhorns."

"How thoughtful," Soul deadpanned.

Blake grinned. "For a price."

Patti giggled, leaning on the counter. Maka gave her a wary glance before taking the bait. _"__What__is__it__."_

"If ya can't get it down, there'll be uh, a **small** penalty."

Maka breathed in the smell of Tsubaki's cooking with a big sigh and said, "Bring it, loudmouth." Soul looked worried, sitting across the table from her.

Seven minutes and an impatiently burned tongue later, Maka said, "That... wasn't that bad, actually. Tender." She sucked on a piece of ice to soothe her scalded tongue. A hint of Tabasco tingled her mouth. Patti applauded her bravery.

Eyes expectantly turned on Soul, who, after rolling his own and tugging his hat over his brow, reached for the basket of 'oysters' in front of Maka and popped one into his mouth. Tsubaki, frying another batch of the testicles, suddenly turned around. "Oh! Wait!"

It was in vain. Maka shied away when Soul abruptly stood from his chair like he'd been struck by lightning. Robotically, he pivoted on a heel and made his way to the paper towel dispenser just as Tsubaki belatedly said, "They're... spicy."

With his back turned, Soul discreetly spat into his napkin. Tsubaki was torn between fretting and letting the calf fries burn in the oil. Mifune went to the dish cabinet for an empty glass.

Maka slapped a hand over her mouth. So used to spicy food, she hadn't even thought twice about it.

"Oops," Patti said, which effectively represented all parties in the kitchen apart from Blake Strickland, who was in the process of guffawing himself to the moon.

"Well, Spitfire, for wasting such a delicacy prepared by _my __wife__-"_

"Sorry, Sue," Soul croaked, reluctantly taking a filled glass of milk from Mifune.

"No no no, I'm sorry, I should've-"

"-I do believe your penalty shall be-"

Maka suddenly found herself defending Soul, "You knew the whole time you no-good weasel!"

"-at the next rodeo you'll dance with yer very own **Shortcake****!**" Blake announced, holding his hands out to Maka in presentation.

The kitchen went silent save for bubbling oil.

"Haah?!" Soul exclaimed while Maka, infuriated, said over him, "I BEG YOUR PARDON?! I ate mine why do **I** have to-"

Patti cheered over Maka's hollering with, "A sixteen-step!"

"Perfect," Blake said, clapping his hands together. "It's settled then!"

"Over your dead _body_ it's settled! Do you realize how hard it is to twirl a man a foot taller than you? GIMME THOSE TONGS- I'm gonna _rip_ your damn _nose_ off your _**damn **__**face**__**!"**_

As she chased her chortling nemesis through the kitchen and into the living room, between her stomping footfalls she heard Soul admit, "Figured it'd be somethin' worse'n that," to which Mifune replied, "You don't know Maka."

* * *

Suzanne Albarn hadn't cared much about the layout of her home. She spent most of her days outdoors, on horseback. When her house was built, her only stipulation had been there be a deep, covered porch that wrapped around the entire two story farmhouse. Maka was grateful for this, because the roof was a tried and true, middle-of-the-night escape route she'd used since she was strong enough to open her bedroom window.

Currently open to let the cool night breeze breathe into her room, Maka itched to go outside. She tossed in bed, restless. The night was alive with insects, their noises loud through her open window. Spring was in full swing, and it plagued her bones with incessant buzzing and energy. All she had to do was pop open the bug screen and slide down the metal roof to freedom...

That was when she heard the muffled giggling. Curled up next to her, Crona's head popped up, ears working around and settling on the source of the laughter. Maka glanced at her alarm clock, scowled, and got out of bed. Well, she'd wanted an excuse to escape, and fate decided to give it to her, so she shouldn't complain.

Spring fever had evidently latched on to other members of Angel's End as well. To be fair, Maka would attest to Blake and Tsubaki Strickland's attempts to keep their 'bed wrasslin'' quiet, but a single wall separating Maka's room from theirs just wasn't enough. Mama hadn't thought that one out all the way, apparently.

As Maka went to her bedroom window and popped open the bug screen, Crona hopped off the bed and squeezed through his doggy door, accustomed to this routine. Maka would like to follow the dog down the stairs, but, small as she was, she was still heavy enough to set off the loud, conspicuous explosion of every creaky stair of the flight on the way down. From personal experience, she knew that would only result in not only an embarrassed married couple, but her father emerging from his bedroom in only his undergarments and a shotgun.

Maka easily ducked out her window and carefully slid down to the corner of the roof over the porch. Turning around, she dropped her feet over the edge and hung by her fingers, searching for the wide handrail below with her bare toes. Once she made contact, she let herself down, gripping a porch column to keep steady.

Crona exited another doggy door and greeted her the moment her feet touched chilled concrete.

Outside, the air was cool and the breeze was just a sigh across mesquite and red oak. She would be far enough away from the Strickland's activities if she went through the back door and slept on the couch in the living room, but Maka decided to stay out for a little while. A quick coat of bug spray kept the mosquitoes at bay as she settled down on the porch.

Taking a deep breath, she found she was more comfortable on concrete outside than indoors on her bed. An owl hooted somewhere from the barn. Faintly, just as she was beginning to doze, she heard a reedy slew of notes dance in the distance. She thought it was her sleepy brain bubbling with dreams.

The owl hooted again, and her eyes snapped open. Maka squinted, focusing on a glimmering of campfire light bouncing off one corner beam of the guest house's porch. She rolled to her side, propping herself on her elbow, her Chihuahua hesitantly wagging his tail at her movement. She waited for the wind to die down, listening.

A slow, warbling harmonica teased the night.

Making up her mind (or rather, her mind made up for her), Maka quietly opened the back door and grabbed her boots out of the tray. Hurriedly stuffing her bare feet into them, she hopped off the porch, running her fingers through her doubtlessly ruffled hair.

Crona led the way. They traveled down the gravel driveway that curved towards the guest house, disjointed music louder the closer they walked. The dog walked considerably faster, not having Maka's problems with seeing in the darkness. He was long out of sight for half a minute before she heard a loud, surprised squeak of the harmonica and a metallic clatter.

Finally catching up, Maka poked her head around the side of the house. She found Soul, looking spooked, bent over and disgruntledly patting the dog on the head. He was fully clothed, though his shirt was untucked and he was missing his hat. His head was still wrapped in that signature bandana.

"Where's yer owner," he groused.

She tried to sound the least threatening as possible, but Soul still jerked slightly when she softly called out, "Here I am." He huffed, standing and rubbing his face with a hand while she came around the corner, palms held up in peace. "Sorry."

He shook his head, frowning. "'Jus didn't think anyone else'd be up," he said, bending low again to picking up a shiny metal object. He made to stick it in a shirt pocket, but Maka interrupted him.

"Ah," she blurted, "You... you don't have to stop."

Hand paused over his pocket, Soul looked at her a moment before his eyes darted away, confliction seeping into his features. Maka didn't know what this meant, but it became apparent to her that she was being intrusive.

"Well," she amended, looking away and into the fire, "You don't have to play, either."

He slinked off the porch to a rickety lawn chair seated close to the campfire. Her eyes followed the metal plating of the harmonica, reflecting firelight as Soul slowly twirled it in his hands instead of putting it away in his pocket.

Maka approached the fire and sat on the edge of the porch, Crona hopping into her lap. She noticed it was the same spot she'd been when she had played veterinarian a few weeks prior. Her head slowly drifted back, searching for the stars. The brightness of the fire made it difficult to see, but Polaris still shone.

"What're you doing out, anyway?" Soul asked, bringing her back to the earth.

She flushed, thinking about her present predicament. "Um, well? Black Star... had too many oysters, I think." Maka smiled, watching Soul wince at the mention of the calf fries.

"Get sick?"

Oh, how to say it without actually saying it? "You could say he got a fever. Of a sort." To his blank stare, she added, "Along with his wife?"

She watched the cogs fit together in his head, his hand coming up to bashfully rub under his nose as a single laugh escaped him.

He gave her a sidelong glance. "Their room's right next to yours, ain't it."

"Yep."

"Aww," he chuckled, sympathetic. "That ain't right."

Maka blew her bangs into the air, hoping to let some embarrassment out of her system.

"You know, if it'd be, ah, easier for them to live in this place, I could switch out with them," he offered.

She was already shaking her head. "Impossible," she said, shooting him down.

"...Okay?"

"I mean, thanks for the offer, but unless you're married or, well... _a__gelding__-_"

Soul grimaced.

"-Papa would sooner shoot you where you sit."

He held up his hands, a mirror of her peace offering from earlier. His harmonica glinted briefly. "I seen death close enough already."

Maka laughed loudly at this, but covered her mouth, unsure if the man's brush with what she assumed had been a near fatal wound was something she should laugh over. Though Soul's smile as he looked away eased her, somewhat. He leaned another log into the fire. She asked what he was doing up at this hour. "Playing a concert?" she prodded.

Put on the spot, he looked the tiniest bit bashful. "What, this?" he asked, tilting up the little instrument. "Naw, that's just a... habit." A silence. "I dropped off Pat after supper," he supplied carefully.

Turning her body to the side, Maka picked up her legs and stretched them across the porch, leaning back against a pillar. Crona resituated on her thighs. "Was Tina there?"

Soul nodded once, sneering into the fire. "Can't say I know much about what's goin' on over there, but," and Maka noted that, like his brother, Soul used a hand to gesture as he spoke, "I pull in, right? And the window's wide open so we can hear them hollerin'. Liz and their momma." He shook his head. "What got me though was _Pat__._ Just said 'bye' and 'thanks' and got out and walked in actin' like it weren't even goin' on."

For a fleeting moment, Maka wondered if Patti was closer to Soul's heart than she first thought, but this was neither here nor there. Soul looked away from the fire to her, troubled. "I know it's far from my place to interfere," he said, eyebrows furrowed under the line of his bandana, "but it was damn difficult to drive off like I seen nothin'."

Maka leaned her head back, tiredly resting it on the pillar behind her with a dull thud. Worry for Patti and Liz flooded her lungs. "I thought about asking Papa to let her stay for awhile. My room is big enough. But then I remember Tina really is their mother, and she's... Well, for starters, she's not dead." Her voice came out flat and clinical with that admission. "And it's not my business. Because they're not my family." After a silence she quietly added, "But they _are."_

Her eyes slowly moved back up to the stars, searching for that certain one. The whole situation just made her miss Mama. Suzanne would've been able to figure a way out of this mess, instead of sitting around in the middle of the night, wishing for something that would never happen. (Because dead was dead, and the North Star only turned in place in the sky.)

She felt like she should probably elaborate on the hows and whys of the Thompson sisters being so close to her as to be considered family, but Soul didn't ask, and her throat was feeling pretty tight on the subject.

The silence went on for miles, the warmth of the fire sinking into her clothes, the stars quietly shimmering thousands of years away in space. Maka wondered if she'd outstayed her welcome, but she also didn't exactly want to get up and disrupt the quiet calm. She heard Soul place another log on the fire, and she relaxed a little further into the porch.

Crona twitched in her lap when Soul began to quietly play his harmonica. Maka sat perfectly still, not wanting to give any indication that she might like or dislike his music, in fear that he would clam up and stop. His playing was different than the bits and pieces she'd first caught this evening. In her presence, he played soothing, lethargic notes.

She wondered how playing such an instrument when one couldn't sleep became a 'habit'.

She wondered if he'd known it was her favorite; If he'd known that all he'd have to do was play into the night and infallibly draw her in. She doubted it, so she further wondered why she kept entertaining the idea.

She wondered if he'd care at all that she kept Mama's harmonica in a keepsake box in her closet.

* * *

She was gifted with a late morning in the beginning of April. She didn't need to go in for her shift at the clinic until noon. Maka sat at the kitchen table after having enjoyed breakfast with the rest of the outfit. Her father, on a rare day off, sat across from her as everyone else got ready for a day on the ranch. Spirit browsed through a stack of mail, sipping coffee. He nodded at a few suggestions Mifune offered in regards to the fields and stock. He eyed an open letter and blankly looked to his general manager.

Tsubaki pursed her lips and dumped used coffee grounds into a bucket. Spirit took the letter and stowed it in his shirt pocket. Maka noted these events while glancing at a handful of charts copied from the veterinary hospital that Nygus had asked her to look over.

She couldn't concentrate. Between the strange results from routine blood tests at the vet, frequent days of working calves, and the presence of fine weather, all Maka wanted to do was ride to the far ends of the property and lay in the sun to watch the calves play in the pastures.

Mifune and Blake were geared up and headed out. Tsubaki scraped more vegetable scrap into the bucket for the compost. Her father finished his coffee and excused himself to his office. Soul lurked at the sink, taking an awfully long time clearing off his dish and looking otherwise like a sore thumb.

Maka startled when Patti spoke up from the back door; the girl had been so quiet this morning Maka had forgotten she was there. "Sue," she said softly, "Kin I talk with you a minute?"

Tsubaki sounded as accommodating as ever. "Sure honey, come with me and help me turn the heap," she replied. Carrying the bucket of scraps, she exchanged the briefest of glances with Maka before following Patti out the door.

Maka tapped her highlighter on the table, contemplative. The knot in her gut that was the embodiment of her worry over Patti shifted with gained weight. She couldn't think much more about it, because Soul spoke from the sink, and with her name, no less.

"Maka." He finally put his plate in the drying rack.

She looked over, surprised, and her eyes unfortunately landed on his cosmically-aligned butt directly in her vision. Maka closed her eyes in defeat. "Yes?"

"I... have a favor to ask," he gruffly said, turning around and leaning on the counter.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him earnestly. "If you need to borrow the laptop again, you can just go for it, you know," she offered, but not halfway through her sentence his hat was pointed to the floor as he shook his head.

"It's a bit more than that."

"Oookay," she warily replied. Maka slowly put the cap back on her highlighter, suspicion pulling her lips into a tight line. She waited for him to speak up. Soul took a breath, lifted his face, opened his mouth a tense moment, and sighed anticlimactically.

She growled in the back of her throat. "Well, spit it out then."

He hooked his thumbs in his jean pockets. "Look, I need you to... accompany me."

Maka squinted, all systems on alert. _"__Where__?"_ She was not pleased that he was purposefully hiding under the brim of his hat again.

"To my family's Easter thing next weekend," he ground out.

The kitchen seemed to be stuck in freeze-frame, and her head tilted to one side, overweight with confusion. Surely she couldn't have heard him correctly. "What?" she asked faintly, at which point Soul Evans lifted his hat and gave her the most pained, desperate look she'd ever seen on a grown man.

* * *

Notes:

'working calves': the process of gathering, branding, innoculating, castrating, and tagging calves to keep track of the newest additions to the herd.

Arabian: a breed of horse

chaps: potentially the sexiest thing a cowboy owns

brassiere: a bra.

'hoof it': walk

'cuttin' horse'" cutting horse. A horse used for herding stock, in this case, cattle.

calf nut: quite literally, a cow testicle. This is a thing, I'm serious. The fur on the outside is also really soft? It's crazy.

'afra-deezy-ack': aphrodisiac. There is a belief that oysters stimulate the sex drive.

'turn the heap': as in, the compost heap. Compost needs to be turned to help the decomposing process.

Lodestar will be on a temporary hiatus so I can work on my Soul/Maka Christmas fic. The first installment of that fic will be released this Friiiidayyy, in theory. Once it is finished, or come January, (whichever is first), I will continue to update Lodestar. Sorry for the inconvenience, but please look forward to both of these stories!


	5. So Mad He'd Chew Nickles And Spit Nails

Hey guys! This chapter is all aboard the drama train. More words at the bottom to help you along. This chapter is brought to you by everyone who rubbed their feels all over my xmas fic ahaha. Thanks everyone for all your support.

I do not own Soul Eater.

* * *

**You can't weigh the facts if you've got the scales weighed down with your own opinions.**

* * *

It wasn't a date, he'd fervently explained before he left her questions half-answered with the excuse of needing to drive Pat to the school bus stop. And this was what she told Tsubaki at the grocery store two days later when she couldn't contain it any longer. "He said that he hated get-togethers and he wanted to use me as an excuse to leave early."

Tsubaki, pushing a giant grocery cart through the wholesale shopping club, smiled like she'd just won the quick pick lottery. "Why you?"

"I... I don't know, he was mumbling a lot," Maka said, eyebrows pinched together with frustration. "Something about Wes having a big mouth and revenge for the stock show," she complained, grabbing two large bags of flour and putting it in the cart. "I mean I understand the revenge part, but I don't get why I'm always involved in his punishments!"

Tsubaki laughed, marking a line through her grocery list. "Think about it Maka- the Evans have 'high respect for your daddy's brand', and that means you, too. Their son is working with Spirit Albarn's daughter, who cowgirls, ropes like he does, _and __is __close __to __his __age__."_

Maka glowered at the taller woman, dropping a sack of pinto beans into the cart. "That's all irrelevant and I don't like where you're going with this," she growled. "And I don't rope like he does."

Rolling her eyes, Tsubaki ignored everything she said. "If Wes told them how you and Soul were playing eye games at the supper table last month, I can just imagine what they're expecting," she said with a mild smile.

Her boot loudly scraped on the concrete floor when she came to a shocked halt in the middle of the dry goods aisle. "We **what****!?**" Maka blurted. "That- no way, that was all _him__,_ he was staring, and dammit, Sue, it's not a _date__,_ it's a favor!" Tsubaki kept walking ahead, casually leaning on the shopping cart to give her stressed back a rest. Maka huffed, trotting to catch up with her.

"Why'd you accept? I thought you wanted 'nothing to do with the Evans family'," Tsubaki asked, voice bored.

"I _don__'__t_," she insisted. Tsubaki didn't verbally mention that Soul was also an Evans, but the upward tilt of her mouth did it for her, accusing her of having increasingly fewer reasons to have nothing to do with 's eyes darted to the side, avoiding her friend's glance. "...Well? He asked nicely," she added, somewhat with disgust. "Begged, really."

"Uh huh," the woman replied, snagging a free sample of fresh fruit from an endcap. "If Spirit asked you 'nicely' to line dance-"

"**Hell** no!" At Tsubaki's very unsurprised expression, Maka was back to babbling. "No, that's different, public humiliation is totally different than... I don't _know__,_ okay? He's got a really effective kicked puppy look. I wasn't expecting it," she admitted, taking her own fruit sample and munching on a kiwi slice with contempt.

"I'll send you with cookies," Tsubaki said decisively. "You'll need all the help you can get to make a good first impression."

"Don't waste your time, I'll eat horse snot before I start caring about what _any_ Evans'll think of me."

* * *

She'd helped with the grocery shopping during her lunch break, but she may as well have gone home with Tsubaki for all the good she was doing at the vet in her frazzled state. Maka sighed, waiting for blood test results, swinging her short legs off the edge of a high stool. She should have known better than to go to the general manager to sort out her troubles brought on by Soul's random request. Oh, she'd sorted them alright- directly into biscuits and buns- and with such a knowing glance! No one should be wearing such a glance when they didn't actually know anything!

Maka sighed at the blood test machine. She had twenty minutes until she was excused for the day. All her duties were completed, barring this last blood test, and she boredly waited for the results and most certainly did not wonder if she needed to dress nicely for an Easter get-together with a family she hadn't had any intentions of meeting in the first place. And she wouldn't be bringing any cookies! (It'd be a waste of Tsubaki's cooking.) She'd just go and be Soul's excuse to leave early for whatever reason, and while she was there she would see for herself the kind of people that would sell their land and give up ranching for money.

The familiar burn of her prejudices made itself known, though it was stifled and hesitant. She hated that Soul Evans had made things complicated; Maka was more sure of herself until he came around.

Her results came in, the machine beeping at her insistently. The printer spewed out numbers and charts, and they were just the same as they'd been all week. The blood was positive for an unknown substance.

Maka frowned, wondering what was going on with the stray, unbranded calf that had been dumped at the clinic. It bawled in its pen for its mother while Nygus made another bottle. "Same results, Mira," she said.

Miranda shook her head. "I don't understand it. Guess I'll have to send a sample elsewhere. Until we're sure he doesn't have anything infectious, we'll just have to keep him quarantined. Poor thing."

"Nobody's reported a missing calf?" Maka asked, tapping the bottom edge of the printouts to staple them neatly.

"Nothing at all, so says your Daddy-Sheriff," the woman replied, shaking the large bottle in her hand. "Go ahead and pack up. I can take care of the rest."

Her hand paused, placing the results in a marked file. "Are you sure? If there's anything you need help with..."

"I'll let you and Kim know, trust me. Go on, get. Head's been up in the clouds all afternoon," she smiled. "Gotcha a boyfriend?"

Maka accidentally slammed the filing cabinet, startled. **"****No****,"** she said, aghast.

* * *

**Just 'cause trouble comes visiting doesn't mean you have to offer it a place to sit down.**

* * *

Maka's truck was thirteen years old. It'd been her mother's until she learned how to drive. There was a long crack in the windshield, and the beige paint was beginning to chip on the hood, but the air conditioning was cold, and the engine still ran strong. Though it had a CD player, Maka used the cassette player the most. Her mother had had a large collection of tapes, and Maka kept her personal favorites in the truck.

She'd been listening to a lot of blues harmonica, as of late. It made her remember warm summer nights, the smell of cut hay, and her parents dancing to music in the living room. And now, just a little bit, it made her remember their newest ranch hand, facing a warm fire under the night sky.

Still a little lost in nostalgia and wistful feelings she couldn't name, Maka was mostly driving in auto-pilot as she pulled onto the property. Belatedly, she noticed a car she'd never seen before was parked in her usual spot. She couldn't dwell on this curiosity long, because she saw Patricia Thompson ineffectually trying to restrain Soul Evans, the latter of whom seeming to have a mighty need to get into the house (and by the look on his face, raise hell). Maka awkwardly parked off to the side in a spot usually reserved for visitors. She killed the engine and trotted over.

"Soul, you _kint__!" _Patti warned him, hanging on to his left arm with all her strength. "'Jus calm the hell down an' stay out!"

"Ge'rrof me, Pat!"

"What's going on?" Maka raised her voice, bewildered by Soul's behavior.

"I know that car anywhere, too clean for any decent person what lives out here," he snarled, dragging Patti along the yard.

"Maks, **do** something," the younger blonde urged, digging her heels into the ground.

Like Maka knew what was going on! Still, she found herself trying to block Soul's path, hands held up peacefully. He attempted not to plow through her, and she moved from one side to the other, making it her business to stall him for as long as possible. "Soul, what's got into you? Hang on a minute!"

"There ain't no time, dammit, she's in there prolly lookin' to see where to put her damn furniture!"

"What on earth are you talking about? She, who?"

And then a woman stepped out the back door. She was thin, not much taller than Maka, with long, pin-straight platinum hair. She wore a casual dress that came to her knees, and on her feet were cowboy boots that made plain were for fashion and not function. She glanced nervously over to the three of them before straightening her bangs and holding the door open for yet another woman to step out.

This one was taller, more confident, and dressed in a long duster buttoned over a blouse and crisp dress pants, all in a uniform shade of black. Her hair draped on one side of her neck in a golden cascade. The first woman, more a mere girl by comparison, shadowed her across the porch.

Soul froze in his tracks when the taller of the two strangers looked over in their direction and smirked. "Hello, Mister Evans," the woman said, amusement tinting her smooth voice. "So good to see you're doing well." Patti reluctantly let up on her tugging, settling to keep on hand on Soul's elbow.

Maka's attention continually switched between looking behind her at the newcomers and back forward at the sight of Soul's jaw clenching in frustration. She was near ready to introduce herself and ask what all the fuss was about when the woman spoke again. "The silent treatment still? Surely there's no hard feelings after all this time," she said with the slightest tilt of her head. Maka was slowly getting the impression that this lady was teasing Soul somehow. Her manner of speaking got under Maka's skin.

"It looked pretty grim there for awhile," she drawled. "I was so glad to hear your family was actually able to take care of your health expenses after all."

"I bet you were," Soul growled, so low that only Maka and Patti could hear. His voice made the small hairs under Maka's ponytail stand on end.

In her left arm, the woman in black held an envelope-type purse, and she pulled from this a dark pair of sunglasses. "You gave your folks quite a scare," she said as she unfolded the glasses and gracefully placed them on her serene face. "I just can't imagine what got into Ragnarok that day."

Maka watched Soul's body stiffen. Looking at him, she found his mouth faintly ajar, his shoulders slowly inching up in defense. _"__Get__out__,"_ he said, voice carrying across the porch. He leaned forward with his anger, as if he wanted to personally escort the strangers himself. He only took one step forward before Patti was back to pulling his arm again. Maka braced her hands on his chest in alarm.

"Whoa! Soul, what's wrong with you?" she hissed. He stayed in place, but wouldn't acknowledge her, wearing a look that could melt through the toughest of hide.

"_You __don__'__t __belong __here __and __you __certainly __ain__'__t __welcome__,"_ he snarled at the strangers.

Maka glanced over her shoulder at the two women, seeing the shorter one eye Soul warily with a nervous frown, while the taller look even more smug than before. The woman laughed once, amused.

"You can't order me anywhere, ranch hand," she teased.

Maka may not have much of a clue about what was happening, but a part of Angel's End's crew was upset and this woman was most certainly the cause. Keeping one hand on Soul, she whirled around.

"Begging your pardon," she said, voice strong, "I don't know what's going on, but if your business is done here, _I__'__m_ going to have to ask you to leave." The back of her mind swirled with doubts and reminders that she wasn't anyone special either; that totem pole of her choosing placed her even lower in rank than the hand, but she was her father's daughter, damn it, and just this once, a ranch princess might serve a purpose.

The woman finally looked at Maka, and gave a little chuckle, as if somehow finding her quaint. "My _business_ is done, for now. And who are you?"

Her first instinct was to proudly shout her name, but she, too, wanted to give the impression that she knew things that others did not. "That's none of your concern. Now go on," she sneered, nodding her head to the shining sedan in her parking spot.

Finally, the woman looked less than amused. She held her envelope to the side, and the shorter woman quickly took it and went to the car, hopping into the front passenger seat. The engine started. "You must be Spirit Albarn's daughter," the stranger said. As if this statement spoke for itself, she went right back to ignoring Maka and addressed Soul, instead. "My regards to your family, Mister Evans," she said dismissively, walking down the porch steps.

A third person, a very large man with scruffy sideburns and a chest that was only barely contained by the buttons of his shirt, got out of the driver's seat of the sedan and walked around the vehicle to open a backdoor for the woman in black.

Glad to see her finally leaving, she turned back to Soul to get to the bottom of this circus, but he wrenched away. Anger rolled off him in waves as he headed away from the house. Patti followed him, saying, "Oh you _best_ not be goin' to the horses!"

Before Maka could follow, she heard a deep voice from behind her shout in surprise. The driver of the sedan was waving his hands threateningly towards Crona, who had come to investigate the unfamiliar tires of the car. "Oi! You little mongrel, git' outta here."

The Chihuahua urinated on a tire.

"Crona!" Maka exclaimed, embarrassed but proud all the same. "Come here, you," she called, before the man decided that her dog was perfect kicking size. The dog obediently came to her, jumping into her open arms. Maka exchanged glances with the driver, who snorted and walked back to the other side of the car, getting in behind the wheel.

The powered rear passenger window rolled down, and dark sunglasses were pointed in her direction. "You have a nice piece of property here, Miss Albarn," the woman in black said with a smile. "Cherish it."

An uneasy feeling seeped into Maka's gut. "Good afternoon, ma'am," she replied, unfriendly voice at odds with the polite farewell. The woman gave one last smirk before her tinted window rolled up, and Maka couldn't help but dimly grasp the feeling that a bull's eye had just been painted on her as she watched the car circle the driveway and drive off.

Shoving this apprehension away, she carried Crona with her as she hurriedly trailed after Patti and Soul, who were now at the corral just outside the stables. The horse wrangler stood in front of the gate, refusing to let the man pass. When Maka was in earshot she heard the girl say, "You ain't goin' in there when you're hot, you'll spook every last one!"

"Pat," Soul said, attempting to at least appear calm. "She's my _horse__,_ I'm goin' for a ride."

Patti only shook her head, glaring. "Goin' fast won't help nothin' if yer _lost__."_

Maka caught up with them just as Soul growled, pulling his hat off and angrily rubbing his head. Slightly out of breath, she said, "Will someone tell me who the hell that was?!"

"She's a witch, is what! Did you hear what she said?" Soul said to Patti, whose expression immediately darkened.

"She sed a lotta things."

"About the _bull__._" Soul grit between his bared teeth.

"I heard it, alright? That don't mean nothin', Soul, she's 'jus messin' with yer head."

The hand huffed with frustration as he stalked off a couple yards away to cool off. Crona twitched in Maka's arms in nervousness.

"What's he talking about? Who _was_that woman?"

Patti looked to Maka with a knowing kind of worry lining her young face. "That was Maddy Georgian."

Maka blinked. Maddy Georgian was the owner of Lazy S, and was the one who bought out the Evans' property. These two facts of information swirled in a never-ending loop in her mind, reminiscent of vultures.

"You better go in and talk to Mr. Albarn 'cause there ain't no friendly reason on this earth for that woman to come 'round here," Patti said.

Her heart lurched a little, and she found herself slowly turning her head to look at Soul, standing a few feet away, who also uneasily looked in her direction. That 'No Purpose' world was pressing in on her at his expression, and she carefully handed her dog to Patti before turning on a heel and breaking into a run.

"_-__she__'__s __in __there __prolly __lookin__' __to __see __where __to __put __her __damn __furniture__!"_

* * *

The longer she thought about it, the more she realized her father was home unusually early. He'd already had a day off this week, but here he was, in his little office, pouring himself a measure of whiskey in a small tumbler while it was still daylight outside.

"Hey, sweets," he tiredly said, looking unsurprised to see her out of breath and still in her boots. Spirit was in his ranch clothes, and it was strange for Maka to see as she was so accustomed to seeing him in uniform. He took off his hat as he walked by an occupied saddle stand and sat in his worn chair behind his desk.

"You're home early," Maka accused.

Spirit took a sip of his whiskey. "Miss Georgian requested a meetin'," he sighed. "How's your day been?"

She shook her head to one side, annoyed. "What _kind_ of meeting?"

He set his glass down on the desk, a finger scratching his eyebrow. She'd skipped over his question, so he did the same. "How's your schoolin' comin' on?"

"It's fine," she said, giving in. "...Why?" She tried to catch her breath, puffing loudly through her nose.

Spirit picked up his glass again, but only to swirl its contents idly as his gaze fell on the saddle next to his desk. Maka waited impatiently, shifting her weight and crossing her arms until he spoke. "D'you think, hypothetical, that doctoring critters is somethin' you could make a livin' from?"

She hated that he didn't ask her directly, his eyes never leaving the saddle. "Just what are you saying?"

He sucked in a deep breath and leaned back, opening the desk's pencil drawer. He pulled out a folded paper, set it on the desk, and nudged it over to her with a finger, the sheet skittering across the stained wood. She didn't let herself hesitate, walking forward and snatching it off the desk.

The letter had the Lazy S brand stamped at the bottom. "W-what am I looking at," she asked, though she knew exactly what she was reading. Involved in the bulk of the text was a number with several zeros trailing after it.

"Her offer," Spirit murmured. To the outraged, betrayed look she flung at him, he said, "I didn't say 'yes'. I didn't express any interest at all, 'hon." The familiar eyes she'd known all her life were earnestly making contact with hers. "That woman is hell-bent on kickin' us outta here by any means necessary."

Maka heard the letter crinkle in her hands, and she had to forcibly order herself to place it gently back on the desk and not crumple it further. "Why?" she asked, the taste on her tongue sour. "We've done nothing to her."

Spirit shook his head. "_You_ haven't. She hasn't taken kindly to the county sheriff snoopin' around," he said tiredly. "And she's a businesswoman. She wants to take out the competition, and when they don't take the easy way," he said, indicating the paper on the desk, "then she's gonna make it tougher on them."

On 'us', is what he meant to say. "We're not giving up Mama's land," she said, fists clenching at her sides.

"That's the last thing I wanna do, sweets," Spirit said quietly.

"Then why're you lookin' like that!" she blurted, voice warbling with emotion. He looked defeated already, resigned to a fate she refused to accept!

"If we don't break even come Fall, I'm not sure if we can keep goin'. We might be able to keep the land with my salary and if you get a job with your schoolin', but we couldn't pay our outfit normal, much less the cattle upkeep."

The boots on her feet felt painfully expensive all of a sudden. Tsubaki rubbing her stomach and speaking worriedly in Japanese to Mifune flashed through her mind.

_"__Cherish__it__,"_ Georgian said, earlier. The 'while you still can' had been implied.

Her eyes burned, feeling very much the No-Purpose ranch princess. "We take her offer and everyone loses their home anyway!"

Spirit set his whiskey down and got out of his chair, coming around his desk to gently put his hands on Maka's shoulders. "I don't wanna sell Angel's End anymore'n you. I'm tellin' you how it is. I planned on dyin' here and bein' buried next to your momma. But Maka, you are my daughter, understand? You're my pri-ority. I care 'bout everyone else, but I'll do what needs done to keep a roof over your head."

A battle waged in her between her maturity and the mental image of a second headstone. She knew what he was saying, but she wasn't some little girl. She could manage just fine on her own without being financially supported by her father.

The land, however, was different.

It was her turn for her gaze to fall on Mama's saddle. Her eyes involuntarily followed the outline of the brass horn down to the delicately worked seat. On a very intimate, deeply buried level in her heart, Maka Albarn admitted to having no idea whatsoever if she could manage without the land supporting her feet.

"We 'jus gotta break even, sweets. Nothin'll change if we manage that."

Her throat was thick. Was this how it felt, to consider selling out? Like negotiating to have one's blood be siphoned? Like the stars burning out in the sky?

"You concentrate on your schoolin', Maka," Spirit said with finality, gently squeezing her shoulders.

"Yes Papa," she mumbled, pulling away and stepping out of the room. She wasn't a little girl, but that was all she felt she amounted to when being forced to face her greatest fear.

Her eyes were blurred with anxiety and frustration, and she damn near ran into Evans. He leaned on a wall in the hallway, clearly within earshot of anything that may have taken place in her father's office. She was torn between punching him for being so irritatingly casual about his eavesdropping and just dropping to the floor, in terror of sharing his fate.

At both their feet was Crona, urinator of tires. He must have escaped Patti. Maybe both of them had. She bent to pick up the dog, letting him soak up her turmoil.

Soul gave her a careful look and tilted his head up slightly, exposing his eyes for her. They were considerably calmer than earlier. "Mitch wants me to ride fence. Wanna come with?"

Her eyebrows crinkled. It was closer to night than noon, and riding fence was a one man job, but being on horseback sounded therapeutic enough to overlook those facts. She nodded shortly, not trusting her voice, and Soul pushed off the wall and left without another word.

More than anything, she found herself wondering how Soul could function. She'd seen how violently he'd reacted to Maddy Georgian stepping foot on Angel's End, and how he'd defended it despite the few months he'd been living on it. He obviously carried resentment- the loss of his home seemed to weigh as heavily on him as a summer's day was long. She wondered how she'd never noticed.

She realized she'd never asked.

Maka reluctantly followed, seeking answers from a man she'd unfairly judged for simply having the experience required to obtain those answers.

* * *

He was waiting for her at the tool shed, grabbing fence repair tools and spare wire. She led Skully over, who'd already been saddled by a glowering Patti. Her horse made soft wuffling noises against the hood of Maka's light jacket.

They rode out to the far west fence line and headed north. He said nothing, and she was appreciative. Crona stood in her lap, excitedly watching the land go by, enjoying the late sun. Harley seemed bored of the slow pace while Maka's horse flanked the mare, content. The rhythm of being on horseback, the soft thud-thud of Skully's hooves on the earth, and the harmonic companionship of a fellow rider nearby lulled Maka into a pacifying trance that cooled her head and negated any further attempts of her eyes threatening to leak.

After three quarters of a mile, Maka softly broke the silence. "Is that how it started?"

He didn't turn to face her. "Hm?"

"When your land was sold," she clarified, though she was fairly certain she hadn't needed to.

They reached the cross fence to the northwest pasture, and Evans dismounted and moved the gate aside for the both of them. After shutting the gate and climbing back onto his horse, he finally answered.

"My family's property was... maybe thrice this size," he started. After a pause, he amended with, "Not to sound competitive or anything. Just givin' you an idea." His horse picked a route around a copse of mesquite, Skully following. "The land was always 'The Evans property'. Some distant great-whathaveyou grandmother of mine took claim of it.

"Wes and me, the both of us were nearly born with hats on. That land was our life. M'sure you know how it is." He briefly glanced over to her then, nothing but a hat brim and half a smile. It was gone in an instant, and he was back to watching the fence as they rode on.

"And then, outta nowhere this outfit snatches up old JB's place. Surprised us, seein' as he'd just died all of a sudden, and instead of the land goin' to his folks, it goes to some name we ain't _ever_ heard. Gets changed to 'Lazy S' and we start seein' the brand poppin' up. That _snake__-__arrow__,"_ Soul sneered, voice gone bitter.

"Bought the neighbors. Knocked on our door. Made the offer." His chin tilted up, and it took a few seconds for Maka to realize that Soul looked somewhat proud. "My folks refused, o'course. We'd been raisin' the best Angus this side of the Divide, so like hell we were gonna quit on account of money. We didn't need none of that. But when it came time to ship?" Soul shook his head. "That Lazy S had so much head of cattle, so bulked up and fat.. After long, our buyer wouldn't shake hands on the deals we'd been makin' for years. 'Ventually, he wouldn't buy from us at all.

"Couldn't make ends meet after that. Few years and our cushion was runnin' dry. All the while that Lazy S would be givin' us hell, sabotagin' the windmills, settin' fire to the fields, cuttin' the fence-"

Maka couldn't hold her tongue at this. "What?!" she exclaimed. "Are you serious? Who even _does_ that anymore? Didn't Papa-" she cut herself off, shaking her head a moment, "didn't the authorities ever do anything?"

Soul scoffed. "Weren't no proof." He looked to her suddenly, one hand raised to speak with. "Ah, not for yer pop's lack of tryin'. He was over all the time, tryin' to get to the bottom of it."

She wasn't sure what to say to this, so she avoided the topic, saving this information regarding her father for later. "Is that why Mitch is having you ride fence?"

"Might've given him the notion," he said, rubbing under his nose.

Maka sorely doubted that Maddy Georgian, or anyone working for her, would cut a fence on the same day she set up a meeting to make an offer on the property. That would take a lot of assuming that she'd be declined, not to mention a lot of just plain meanness.

"Better safe than sorry, I suppose," she said mostly to herself.

Soul agreed with a grunt.

Crona turned in her lap as they kept riding, settling down to keep warm in the folds of Maka's jacket. The sun was falling to the ground, making the shadows of their leggy horses stretch long. "So, is that it?" Maka found herself asking. "What happened after that?"

Soul seemed to deflate in his saddle. His words came out snide. "Well. I got my _dumb __ass_ in the hospital, and that took up what was left of the savings. And then some. They took the next offer she gave. I didn't even know it. Was still in phys'cal therapy. Then they all packed up. Wanted nothin' more to do with cattle n'snakes."

"But you didn't."

She watched him look beyond the fence and towards the orange horizon. "I ain't meant for city life," she thought she heard him say.

After counting a measure of T posts, she replied, "Neither am I."

He glanced at her, giving her that half smile again. "Can't let it go either, huh?" He sighed. "Look, I don't wanna see it happen all over. Not to _anyone__,_ but specially not to you and yours."

Maka immediately wanted to correct him. She believed him, but not the last bit. "You're ours too," she heard herself say.

He laughed, grin genuine. "Am I now?" And his horse tripped on cut barbed wire.

* * *

!

!

'wholesale shopping club': I'm not sure if this is purely an American concept or not. I have no experience outside the country. Anyway, buying groceries and things in bulk is generally cheaper than not, and is also very beneficial to those who live too far away to go to a normal grocery every few days.

'kint': can't

'Maks': Pat's nickname for Maka. (say 'Max') Everyone eventually gets whittled down to one syllable. It's inevitable.

'ride fence': traditionally, riding a horse with fence repair tools and riding the perimeter of an area to check for damage.

'the Divide': as in the Great Divide. One of the longest continental divdes in North America, denoting which direction local rivers flow. It runs from Alaska down through Mexico.

'head of cattle': literally a single cow/steer/bull in a herd. It is a one-to-one unit of measurement.

'T post': sometimes also 'Y post'. a steel fence post with notches to hold fence wire or barbed wire.

As always, reviews are appreciated! I'll have another update in a week or two.


	6. I Was Born At Night, Not Last Night

Hello! Hope you enjoy this little addition. Today, you get a brief preview of the Evans family! Notes to help you along are at the bottom.

* * *

Harley gave a short squeal, the twisted tangle of barbed wire catching on her legs. It snapped across the mare and rebounded erratically with the horse's dancing, cutting across flesh and tack and rider before Soul could urge the horse far enough away to get out of the mess. The animal was twitchy and panicked, fighting the reins and sidestepping until her rider could calm her down.

Maka was busy with her gelding and her dog, who'd both reacted nervously to the whole event. She guided Skully clear of the fence, though he circled around in the process, spooked. Crona scrambled all across the saddle and Maka's chest, trying to keep from falling off the horse. After several adrenaline-filled seconds, Skully was mostly settled, though tense and attempting to keep an eye on both Harley and the tangle on the ground. Maka, obliging her dog by letting him crawl under her jacket, called out to Soul, asking if he was alright.

The hand was swearing under his breath, but got his horse under control. His hat had fallen during the ordeal. He leaned from side to side, inspecting Harley. "Did it catch her?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Maka gently nudged her horse forward, circling Harley at a safe distance while squinting for damage in the fading light. "Just a few scratches. Ah, but her hock is bleeding-" Soul cursed loudly that time. "We can take care of it at home, it doesn't look bad. Should do it soon though, before the flies get to her."

Soul nodded, face furious as he dismounted. This was when Maka noticed Soul's hand pressed to his thigh, and the dark stain under it. "You! It got you too?" she asked, dismayed.

He tilted his palm away for half a second, only giving a flippant, distracted glance on himself before he was back to finding his horses injuries. He growled. "Just a scratch. Ruined my jeans, god dammit."

Not satisfied with this answer, Maka slid off her horse, one arm carefully supporting Crona's weight in her jacket on the way down. Once near, she grasped Soul's wrist to see the shallow scrape for herself. Maka blushed at the wide rip in his pants, criminally high on his thigh.

He sighed forcefully out his nose, irritated at her interference. The wound didn't look that bad- the horse's hocks were worse, as minor an injury they'd suffered- but it bothered her on principle. They'd both been hurt as a result of something that needn't involve them. "You should get a tetanus," she said softly.

Soul immediately yanked his wrist away. "Hell no I _shouldn__'__t_," he said.

Maka gave him a stern look before letting a squirming Crona out of her jacket and depositing him on the ground. "Hell _yes_. I'll call the doc when we get back."

He was adamant in his refusal. "No way am I gettin' a needle from any sawbones over a paper cut," he protested. Maka squinted at him dubiously as he walked away, bending to pick up his dusty hat. "S'not gonna kill me."

"Barbed wire's a bit heftier than paper," she chastised, frowning. "Are you scared of doctors or something?"

"Course not!"  
"Whatever. I'm calling him, regardless."

He snarled. "Woman-"

He thought he could be bullheaded with her? She wrote the book on being stubborn. She snarled right back, _"__Don__'__t __you__ '__woman__' __me __like __it __means __anything __different __from__ '__man__'!_ Now shut up and help me with this fence so we can get home. Your horse needs doctoring."

* * *

**Don't corner something that is meaner than you.**

* * *

When Maka finished putting Skully up for the night, she walked out into the corral, where Soul was rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. "It wasn't his fault, I was distracting him, Pat," she insisted while Patti caressed her knuckles.

When the horse wrangler turned her glare to Maka, Soul sullenly cut in with, "Don't listen to her, I wasn't payin' proper attention. S'my own fault."

Patti wheezed with pent-up anger. She unbuckled Harley's saddle and shoved it into Soul's arms with a grunt. "I ain't mendin' yer rig." She glanced down at his leg, but said nothing about the bloody hole in his jeans, only rolling her eyes. She walked just inside the door to the stables to get some supplies for the injured horse.

The girl was a force to be reckoned with, so Maka tried her most soothing voice possible (though she still had nothing on Tsubaki's) when she tentatively asked, "Is there anything we can do to help?"

With Soul occupied with the loose ends of his tack and Patti out of reach, Harley turned to regard Maka at the sound of her voice, ears pointed with alert distrust.

The only possible way for Patricia Thompson to look any more mad as she leaned around the stable door would be for her eyes to catch fire. "I kin handle. The horse. I _kin__'__t_ handle you two buzzin' round in my **face****,"** she gritted between her teeth while she slung a water hose over her shoulder and grabbed a brown sack of gingersnaps. Patti jutted her chin out at Soul. "You. Get out 'fore I punch you again. And _you__,"_ she said to Maka, "get out 'fore you get bit. You call Frank, yet?"

Maka eyed Soul's bratty horse. "...No, but I'm fixing to," she replied.

"Who's Frank?" Soul asked warily.

Patti hooked up one end of the hose to an indoor spigot. "The doc. _Didn__'__t __I __tell __you __to __**git**__**?"**_

"I don't wanna leave my horse, alright?" Soul shot back, shifting the gear in his arms. "And I don't need no doctor or tetanus, I keep sayin'."

The horse wrangler looked at him, nonplussed. "What got you?" she asked, motioning to his leg.

"Barbed wire," Maka happily supplied when Soul stubbornly hid his shifty eyes under the brim of his hat.

"Then you need a tetanus, Spitfire." The nickname rang synonymous with 'idiot' the way Patti said it.

Soul seethed. "No, I _don__'__t__."_

"He hit his head too?" Patti skeptically asked Maka, feeding Harley a gingersnap to distract the horse from potentially biting visitors.

Soul grumbled under his breath (something about taking advice from a kid and a cow-doctor) and stalked out of the corral, lugging his rig to the tack shed. Maka shifted from side to side, not sure whether to follow him or stay and help with a horse that would sooner sit on her than let her near its injuries. After a withering glance from Patti, she hastily apologized and trotted after the ranch hand into the darkening evening.

He refused her help putting up his saddle, and commented on her lack of silence ("Would you pipedown?!") as she followed him to the guest house. When he came to terms with her not leaving him be, he sighed resignedly and allowed her into his quarters.

Maka abruptly stopped as soon as she walked in the door. She hadn't been inside the guest house in some years, and Soul had rearranged the area to his own liking. He looked at her quizzically at her hesitation, but left her at the open door.

The last she'd been here, she had to go through Mama's old things. The guest house was used primarily for storage for a long time before Suzanne had died.

She was a little relieved that the house smelled less like dust and more like something she hadn't analyzed before until that moment, filtering around her in such quantity; a familiar presence of Soul Evans and shaving cream thinly layered over leather. There was a tall table off to the side, littered with random items. Keys, gloves, harmonica, loose change, and a mostly empty pack of sunflower seeds lay scattered on the surface.

The kitchen was small, and looked unused as it always had (which was little surprise as Tsubaki cooked meals enough to feed an army daily). One other part of the house had remained the same: underfoot was an old rag rug her mother had made. Maka swallowed, caught unprepared for this sudden recognition. She hadn't realized this item had a history stored in her memory.

She slowly straightened a folded-over edge of the rug with the toe of her boot. Looking up finally, Maka saw Soul carefully watching her. She remembered where she was, and apologetically closed the front door.

"How's your leg," she asked, trying to sound normal.

Soul sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed, keeping the leg in question straight to keep his jeans from aggravating the cut on his thigh. "Still attached," he said blandly. Maka stepped forward, eyes drifting to the hole in his jeans. He shifted under her gaze, looking away with a frown and pulling off his gloves. He tossed these to land near the other pairs on the table. "Let's just get this overwith," he grumbled.

The guest house telephone was hidden underneath his bed, dusty with disuse. The phone line that trailed from it to the wall was stiff and curled, still new from being replaced after the Lipizzaner-Rat incident of last January.

She knew the number by heart. (_"__Sweets__, __you __go __in __the __house __and __you __call __Frank__, __understand__?"_) The doctor didn't sound the least bit surprised to hear from her on a random Thursday evening, but he never did sound surprised about anything.

Maka explained the gist of things. "I'll be there after awhile," Frank said before he hung up.

"Your doc makes housecalls," Soul asked without the question mark.

Maka hung up the old phone. "He's been a friend of the family for a long time. Everyone here knows his number..." Her eyes were drawn back to his leg without her knowledge. "You should learn it, too," she faintly said.

He tilted his head up a little, shifting her focus. "I been hurt worse than this," he said quietly. With the tips of his fingers, he lightly tapped his chest twice with his left hand before removing his hat.

She looked away, flustered. The rug was back in her sight again. "I know it's not serious. But still."

"Still?"

"The fence was cut," she said, angry and confused. "You're not even involved this time." She looked up when she heard him scoff.

"Maka, I've been involved since the first time Maddy Georgian knocked on the door."

Maka shook her head, eyes blazing. "You don't get it. This is my- ...my mama's land. We _hired_ you. I know that cowboys getting hurt comes with the job, but the fence was cut. That's not part of the job- that's you getting drug into our business."

Head cocked to the side, Soul regarded her for a moment before standing and ambling to his narrow bathroom. She heard the light switch flip, and watched him shut the door to only a small crack. The sounds of the ranch hand undressing filtered through the gap. "So," he said behind the door, "you feel guilty."

She flushed, feeling awkward in the center of the room by herself while hearing Soul clean up his leg. She walked forward to perch on the corner of his bed. "I feel a little responsible," she admitted, trying to sound more professional about the matter as opposed to emotionally invested in whatever physical mishaps may befall Evans.

"You ain't the one who cut the fence, Maka," he said, accompanied by sounds of first-aid tape and a clatter of cardboard on counter top. "Didn't exactly push me into it, either," he added sourly.

She prodded the edge of the rug with her boot. "You're still one of ours, though. Said it before," she replied to the bathroom door. "I feel like... I should make sure everyone's taken care of."

Soul didn't respond to this, and she was relieved, because if she was going to be forced to admit any more by-proxy feelings of worrying about his well-being, she'd rather get the tetanus shot, herself.

After what seemed like eons of forcing herself to think of anything unrelated to bandages, wranglers, and _stupid_ comments from _stupid __Tsubaki__,_ Maka heard (or rather, smelled) Frank's familiar truck pull up outside. The scent of rancid French fries sifted through the guest house's open window, bright headlights spilling in and angling across the wall.

"God almighty," Soul said as he wrenched the door open and hurriedly buttoned his jeans. He pulled up the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose. "Please explain to me why it smells like a bag of asses just got dropped on my house." He squinted at Maka over his collar.

Maka scoffed as she stood, making her way to the front door. _"__Your_ house?" She grinned. "That'd be Frank's truck. Runs off cooking oil."

Hand on the doorknob, she was interrupted from letting the doctor in by Soul hurriedly forcing the front door shut again. "I know this smell," he muttered.

"What the hell?"

He looked distraught, worriedly searching her eyes. If his shirt collar hadn't been so comical pulled up to his nose, Maka would have had half a mind to become flustered by his proximity. "You mean to say it's a biodiesel?"

Maka blinked. "Y-yes?"

Soul became even more panicked when Frank spoke on the other side of the door. "Ding dong. Anyone home?"

The hand violently shook his head, collar falling off his face, but Maka still called, "Yeah! Just a second!" And then, more quietly, "What is the matter with you? Do you have an actual _thing_ about doctors?"

"Just one," he hissed, struggling to keep her from re-opening the door.

"Would you just... _knock __it __off__!"  
_"OW shit, my fff- think you broke my goddamn toe!"

Maka shoved Soul out of the way while he cringed and limped. She opened the door. "Hi, Frank."

Frank, Doc Stanley to his patients, pushing fifty, spectacles, stood outside. He smelled vaguely of hushpuppies. "Hello, Maka. You seem to be doing well. Taking those vitamins?"

"Of course."

"Mister Evans," he nodded to Soul, not looking surprised at all to see someone else he knew.

Soul was slowly inching backwards from the doorway. "Doctor Stanley," he greeted, and then glared accusingly at Maka for reasons she didn't understand.

"You two are acquainted?" she asked.

"Of course we are," Frank said, stepping into the house. He was exceedingly tall, and had to duck his head to pass. "Though, Soul, you never came back for your follow-up."

The younger man rolled a shoulder. "Musta slipped my mind," he said lowly.

Watching the exchange, Maka felt out of place but too entertained (and interested) to do anything about it.

"Maka tells me you met a fence today."  
"M'fine."

"Yes, well, better safe than sorry." Frank smiled, opening up his satchel and investigating the labels on a handful of small vials.

"So I hear," Soul replied dryly, shooting another displeased look in Maka's direction.

"Ah, Clostridium tetani. Your favorite, if I remember correctly."  
"You seem to recall the exact opposite of everythin'."

Frank smiled serenely. "Deltoid, please."

Soul, wearing a standard, long-sleeved pearl snap shirt, unhappily untucked his shirt from his pants. As he popped the top button, Maka was suddenly confronted with a dilemma.

"Uh. I. Um?" It was just a chest, for heaven's sake- she didn't know why she was so bashful all of a sudden. "I should go."

"Stay," Soul said casually. "I need to, er, talk with you. After." A glance from him completely negated his statement with a desperate look as Frank loaded an injection needle, unaware. His face clearly read 'Don't leave me alone with him'.

She hid a smile behind a hand for a moment. "...Okay," she said, after regaining her composure. But then he pulled the last snap and she caught a glimpse of that line Liz Thompson had drawn in the diner. Her breath caught and she looked away, eyes pulled to the floor and riveted to the rug.

Maka tried to recall when his last bullride had been, but the date her brain gave her did not want to match up with the angry-looking scar that crossed from left shoulder to right hip. It looked too recent, too aggravated to be from two autumns past.

She winced when Frank remarked, "This is looking much better."

"'Jus gimme the shot already, quit pokin' it," Soul complained, but Maka recalled something else he had said earlier today.

"_Did __you __hear __what __she __said__? __About __the __**bull**__."_

She couldn't make heads or tails about what Soul and Patti had been referring to. All she could piece together was that, in Soul's mind, the bull that gave him his scar and Maddy Georgian were associated in some way.

"You sure you don't want any stitches for that?"  
"Never been more sure of somethin' in my life."

Maka tuned out Frank's teasing and Soul's defensiveness, thoughts falling back into the disparaging subjects of Maddy Georgian and Lazy S ranch. Soul had predicted the fence being cut. She had a feeling he'd probably know what came next, too. And then, at the end of that line, Angel's End would be sold when all other options ran out.

Her eyes followed the muted colors of the floor rug, its faded, frayed ends of cloth spiraling around a center knot.

"You guys come in for supper," she said abruptly. "I'm sure there'll be plenty." Even though she'd agreed to stay, she ignored Soul's questioning eyes as she spun to open the front door.

Frank turned around, adjusting his spectacles. "I'm hoping Sue will let me fill up the truck?" he asked hopefully as his patient quietly buttoned his shirt.

"Now, you know she saves all the frying oil just for you," Maka replied, wearing her sweetest smile while her mind raced in other directions. She gave a generic farewell before rushing out of the guest house and trotting across the porch.

She was a grown woman, and she could prioritize, too. She loved her papa, but the land was her priority. Some sassy downtown glamor-woman wouldn't bully her or anyone else off of Mama's land, and she sure as hell wouldn't hurt any more of Angel's End's outfit.

Maka needed more information. She needed to talk to people who had a better estimate of what it would take to keep from going under. She needed the number crunchers.

Even if she had to do it single-handedly, the ranch would break even.

* * *

The coffee table echoed her fingers' incessant drumming. It was a late Saturday evening, and last autumn's records were fanned in front of her. No matter the arrangement of numbers and papers, the outcome remained the same.

Tsubaki polished off the remainder of what was likely to be her sixth glass of water that evening. "And we don't know how well she's doing this year. Judging by how much she offered Spirit, it's safe to say 'not poorly'."

Maka recalled all those zeroes. "What about the buyers? Will they keep their promises when we ship?"

Tsubaki slowly shrugged. "That's more for Mifune to answer. He said he's been looking into other people in case they don't." She looked hesitant before adding, "But finding someone that does things without hormones is pretty difficult, lately."

Something about this tickled the back of Maka's brain, but she wasn't sure what or why. She looked up from the table. "We'll have to look harder. I don't want them to finish at some place where they'll be treated like hell and get liver abscesses and pumped full of ionophores and-"

The older woman held up a hand before Maka could rant her way through a long list of scientific and medical terminology. "I know it, Maka. If we don't, though, we may suddenly have a whole lot of pets to feed through next winter."

Resting her chin in a palm, Maka blew her bangs out of her eyes. The house was quiet, most everyone gone off to bed. She should be as well, because tomorrow she had to leave early to make it to the Evans' Family Easter Lunch-Thing, and rest would probably be necessary to handle that with a straight face. She glanced down at the papers again.

"Well. What do you think?"

Tsubaki didn't reply. She idly swivelled from side to side in her recliner, her own nails tapping lightly on her empty glass.

Maka continued to prod the manager for an answer. "If it goes like last year-"

"It'll be worse than last year," Tsubaki said definitively.

"I know, but let's say it won't be. Would we break even again?"

Tsubaki sucked in her bottom lip while she ran mental figures. Maka watched the woman's reading glasses slowly slide down the bridge of her nose. "With the new truck, and paying Soul, probably not." She looked sideways at Maka. "If we do what we've always done."

Maka's eyes flickered to the general manager's rounded stomach and knew a lot of things couldn't be done as always. Things changed. They must adapt. Her fingers drummed faster on the table.

"Speaking of," Tsubaki said, "yesterday morning Pat asked for an advance."

"Did she not get paid last week?"

"She did."

Scowling, Maka angrily organized last year's records. She knew she shouldn't be jumping to conclusions, but it shot from her mouth before her conscience could check it, "It's her mother, isn't it."

"She wouldn't say, so probably."  
"...Can we do it?"

Tsubaki shifted uncomfortably in her chair, swivelling halted. "I said I'd have to talk to Spirit first, but... after Frank coming over and all that business with the fence, and Soul, and Lazy S, I haven't had the chance."

And Papa hadn't come home that evening, either. It wasn't unusual for him to be absent, as of late, but seeing as certain snake-arrow-women have been sabotaging their ranch, Maka was a little irritated that her father wasn't home. She knew and understood that, as sheriff, he had several obligations, but his rare appearances did little to deter the feeling that everything was slowly slipping from their hands.

"What're you thinking, Maka?"

She was thinking about how her education was burning a hole in their finances. She was thinking about how much worse this year's profit on the cattle would potentially be. She was thinking of what to sell, what to give up, what to raise from the depths so they could break even.

"I'm thinking on how I'm not going to give that woman an inch of our land." Standing, Maka handed the neat bundle of papers to Tsubaki, thanking her.

* * *

**Life is simpler when you plow around the stumps**

* * *

The plate, wrapped in aluminum foil, was warm in her hands. Her mouth twisted to the left, daring him to say anything.

Unmoving, the brim of Soul's hat focused on her for a long beat. _"__What__,"_ she challenged, feeling defensive. She knew she looked like a little girl-child in a spring dress, and she waited for him to make any kind of wisecrack so she could properly have reason to shove her foot up his ass. She hadn't known what to wear (weren't Easters supposed to be churchy-dressy?), but she supposed she hadn't overdone it seeing as Soul appeared to be wearing the cleanest pair of dark denim that no cowboy should ever own. "You don't have to look so surprised about it."

He said nothing, only rolling his shoulder slightly before he meandered to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door for her.

She gave him the most accusatory glare she could muster. "I can open a door."

"Your hands're full."

Maka shoved Tsubaki's cookies in his hands and climbed in. She buckled her seat belt. Grudgingly re-accepted the plate of cookies. Soul sighed at her and shut the door. Maka tilted her head back to thunk on the rear window of the pickup.

Why was she doing this?

"Because Wes lies like a goddamn rug," he grumbled in response when she asked aloud, climbing in behind the wheel. Depressing the clutch pedal, he turned the key in the ignition.

She didn't get the chance to ask just what his brother had lied about, because the truck's engine continued to noisily turn without completely starting. "..Um?"

Soul frowned, turning the key back a moment. He tried the ignition again, the engine turning earnestly but failing to start. He sniffed once. "Welp."

They exchanged glances.

"Guess we can't g-"  
"Do you need to borrow my truck?"

He grimaced.

Maka rolled her eyes and unbuckled her seat belt. Honestly, it was like the man wanted to see his family even less than she did. "We're supposed to be there by when? Eleven? We're already late- let's just take mine." Opening the door, she slid off the seat and fell the short distance to the ground. Plate of cookies in one hand and dusting off her light colored dress with the other, she quipped, "You should probably tune up your truck."

Soul sullenly pulled his keys out the ignition. "If the truck says I shouldn't go, then I just don't," he replied.

He followed her up the driveway to where her truck was parked, which was also where they proceeded to have an awkward dance going around the tailgate to both get to the driver's side.

"Excuse you," she spat, patience at an all-time minimum.

"I figured I would-" he started.

She gawked at how casually he acted on his ridiculous presumptions. "Get your butt off your shoulders!"

He looked genuinely at a loss. "Ah- Maka... I can-"

"No you can not drive my _truck__!_"

Looking irritated, Soul pulled his hat low over his eyes. "Albarn, I can't have my... my g-"

"If you're about to say what I think you're about to say," she warned, "I'm going to run you over."

"My _guest__,_" he snarled, "drive me to my own family's damn get-together. It's humiliatin'!"

She wanted so badly to not be holding cookies so she could strangle him. Instead, she smacked his hat back out of his stupid face. "You make the biggest fits over the weirdest things! Can't eat spice, can't look at someone without a hat on, scared of doctors-"

"I ain't scared of doctors, dammit, _and_ if Wes sees you bein' my chauffeur I'll never get a peaceful night's rest til the day I see Peter."  
"Well you should've thought that through before you neglected your only means of _going __places_."

Soul slapped his hand over his face with a huff and turned to pace away a few feet before whirling back again. "I'll buy you Oreos."

Her mouth caught air for a moment. "Pardon?"

"Month's supply. If you let me drive."

Was he bribing her with _cookies__?_ (Wasn't she already holding some in her hands?) Her back straightened, offended. "I won't be bought by food, what kind of a-"

"Six months."  
"W-what in the **hell** am I gonna do with six month's worth of Oreos?"

He waved a hand, exasperated. "Use 'em to bribe Strickland, I don't care- just let me drive to my own house."

Maka had no response to this other than staring at him, flabbergasted.

"I'll pay for fuel."

Her thumbs crinkle the foil covering the plate of fresh cookies. "Alright fine!" she exclaimed, stomping around to the passenger side of the truck. She just wanted the whole stupid thing over with! "Money can't buy you everything, though, so you best keep your word good, Evans, or so help me your brother will look like a saint." She was relieved he didn't try to open the door for her again- murder was not something on her to-do list for the day.

She laughed victoriously when, climbing into the driver's seat, he bashed his knee on the steering column.

"_Mercy."_ Soul moved the seat back to allow more room to accommodate his longer legs.

Once they were both situated, he looked at her blankly. Without ceremony, Maka reached over and violently flipped down the driver's side sun visor, spilling her keys into his lap. "And if you wreck it, I'll skin you alive."

Apart from a partially lost moment in which Soul's right hand went for an imaginary stick shift before realizing the truck was an automatic, he didn't seem to have any issues with Maka's truck. She still watched his every movement, waiting for anything to break.

She couldn't remember the last time she rode passenger in her own vehicle. Everything was mirrored and backwards, and she had no steering wheel to drape her wrist over. Her crossed feet shifted restlessly on the floorboard while she tugged the hem of her skirt closer to her knees.

It wasn't until after it happened that she remembered the last set of cattle guards at the end of the driveway were rough enough to bounce the truck in the perfect way to rattle and kick on her radio. Immediately, the cab echoed with loud harmonica via cassette. Soul started while Maka nearly knocked the cookies from her lap to scramble for the volume control.

Her face steamed. "Sorry," she said, voice sounding loud in the sudden silence of the cab. "I had the windows down the other day, so..."

"Wait," he said, faintly amused, or maybe preoccupied. "What _is_ this?"

Maka had not anticipated being embarrassed over this, and even more bothersome was not pinpointing the reason she was flushing in the first place. "It's... my mama's favorite tape," her mouth said before her brain could process why, along with any other useful things. She was caught between telling him to mind his own business and throwing herself out of the passenger door.

Soul slowly turned the volume up to audible levels, only humming in acknowledgement.

Maka didn't know what to make of his expression. He didn't turn off the radio. She wanted to say anything to divert his attention from the music, because that tape had become something personal to her, something cherished, and to have him silently sit through it looking like he was in deep thought made her unreasonably anxious.

Mama loved harmonica. Maka loved it too, but sometimes it was more than just because it was her mother's favorite. She liked hearing the instrument from any source. This trail of thought invariably led to the fact that the man sitting next to her was one of those sources, and, for reasons she did not want to analyze in any shape or form, this aforementioned fact made her slap out the bricks and mortar around herself to keep the lone wolves from blowing her over.

In the time she'd spent trying to keep her face temperature under control, the song ended, and Soul Evans said, "Your tape's wearin' out."

She blinked and looked at her radio as if it would tell her something. "Is it?"

"Can hear it. Should copy it soon."

"A-ah. I'll... keep it in mind." She hadn't even noticed! She listened to the tape so frequently, any signs of the cassette gradually wearing out over time had easily slipped by her ears. The thought of her mama's tapes being lost to the abyss wasn't something she had considered previously. "Thanks."

He didn't comment on the music or otherwise.

Maka watched familiar trees twist away on the curving back roads, sunlight flashing through open branches. "So, is there anything I should know about your folks?" she asked, then disturbingly realized that this sounded like a weird, meet-the-parents date, and twisted her mouth sourly.

Soul grunted in disgust. "Not really. They'll prolly fawn all over you as you're _Spirit__'__s_ daughter."

She almost decided to let the road noise in the cab speak for her, but she couldn't let it be. "That makes a whole zero of sense," she blurted. "Have they not met him?"

He nodded slowly. "Yep. They saw him a lot, remember? You'll see. My gran is the one to worry about, anyway. She's jus' like you."

"What? How do you mean?"

His fingers tapped on the steering wheel as he counted off in a drawl, "Stubborn, quick to judge, holds a grudge like a thorn, and gives everyone more hell than what exists in the underworld."

Maka's eyes narrowed with her rising ire. "...How is that me at all?" she challenged. He said nothing but gave her a sidelong glance that spoke volumes.

"If I could be sure you wouldn't wreck us, I'd hit you."

"Much obliged." He pulled on the highway, taking care to not over-rev her truck. "Oh. Hope you like dogs." Soul made a small glance to her lap before wincing and uncomfortably clearing his throat. "Prob'ly shoulda worn pants."

She gave him an openly incriminating expression, face blazing as she tugged her hem a little lower. "Just where are you looking," she hissed.

Soul only shook his head. "Ain't me you should be worried about," he said, ambiguous.

* * *

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen? There were dogs _everywhere_. She couldn't count them, they were jumping and running around so much, swarming around her bare, bare legs.

"Oh gosh, I should've asked Ethan if you're allergic," said a tall, willowy woman with crinkled eyes. "Hello," said Mrs. Evans, soft brown hair, cotton pants, paint-splattered t-shirt, no shoes. "Good to meet you, call me Tanya. Are you allergic to dogs?"

Maka found herself laughing at the rapid-fire greeting as Soul's mother took the plate of cookies from her hands. Grateful to have her hands free, she glued them to her dress, attempting to keep dog snouts from where they shouldn't be. "No, I'm not," she replied. "Maka Albarn, pleased to meet you." And she truly was, to her surprise.

Tanya Evans ushered them inside the large home, stepping over dogs with ease. The woman seemed to have very little physical traits in common with her sons at first glance, but after a few moments of watching her animated face, Maka got the impression of Wes from Tanya, with that easygoing smile and crinkle of nose. "Spirit's daughter! Oh, look at you, you're just a darling. **William****! ****William ****they ****are **_**here**_, heavens, I need to bring in the tea. Right this way, come in, come in! Ethan, take off that hat."

Maka heard a soft sigh behind her. "Yes ma'am." Over her shoulder, she gave Soul an amused look. He tiredly shook his head at her. "She only calls me 'Soul' when she's mad," he said. And then he was tackled by a greyhound.

Walking further into the large house, she was overwhelmed by the unfamiliar surroundings, the swirling mass of dogs in all colors and sizes, Soul staggering and cursing ("Eisenhower, dammit!"), and a balding man opening a sliding glass door on the opposite side of the house tiredly saying, "Whew! I'm as wore out as a cucumber in a convent."

After slapping a hand over her mouth, Maka believed her composure to be reasonable stable. She wondered if that was the singular, muffled laughter of Wes Evans filtering around an unseen corner.

"Pop!" Soul loudly hissed, struggling with the greyhound excitedly greeting him and heroically scooting another canine that was attempting to stick its muzzle a little too far up Maka's dress. He grit through his clenched teeth, "We have _mixed __company__."_

William (Bill) Evans, stout belly, ruddy-eyed, at least a foot shorter than his wife (and only slightly taller than Maka), introduced himself loudly across the living room. "Call me 'Pop'! 'Pologies in advance for anythin' what might be 'fensive outta my mouth." And then, to Tanya, he remarked, "She's cute ain't she," before gesturing behind him to the open glass door. "Hey, you reckon this tea's done?"

Soul's mother placed Tsubaki's cookies on a coffee table, sternly pointing at the nearest dogs to keep away from the goods. "I'm fixin' to get it here right now. Why're you sweating- did you catch fire again?" she asked, following him outside.

Unable to learn if 'Pop' Evans had lit himself on fire (he hadn't appeared singed in any way), Maka looked back at Soul, lips sucked in to keep from smiling too widely. Soul gave her an aggravated look, holding his face away from the greyhound's tongue. "D'you understand now?"

A giggle escaped her. "What, why you wanted to stay home?" Maka wore a broad grin. "Not in the slightest."

The entire world would be curds if it could, courtesy of Soul Evans's glower. **"****Wes****,"** he called loudly, **"****Come ****git ****yer ****stupid ****dog****!"**

* * *

**!**

**!**

****notes:

hock: ...kind of like the 'knee' of a horse's hind leg. Actually, I think it's more correct to think of it as an ankle? Anyway, they're a pain to keep wrapped and clean when injured, and tend to break open a lot when the horse bends its leg.

tetanus: as in a tetanus shot. If it's been awhile since your last booster shot (10 yrs), and you are injured (especially puncture wounds) it's recommended to get a shot to prevent infection.

sawbones: a kind of comically-old term for a doctor. The fact that Soul uses it makes Maka kind of amused.

rig: rigging. It's where the strap that cinches around the horse attaches to the saddle. Evidently Soul's had broken.

pipedown: shut up

hushpuppies: cornbread batter that has been deep fried into glorious submission

Clostridium tetani: hopefully, the correct term for the Tetanus strain. No guarantees.

deltoid: muscle located high in the shoulder.

'til the day I see Peter': as in Saint Peter, popularly the keeper of the gates of heaven. (Soul's saying Wes'll make fun of him til he dies.)

'wore out as a cucumber in a convent': ...if you need detailed explanation, you might should not be reading M rated things. The gist of it is, cucumbers refer to dildos, and convents refer to nuns. Extrapolate from there.

!

Marsh: Just another obligatory statement to let you know I have NO idea how horses react in certain situations. I've been informed that roan morgans probably don't exist anymore so.. yay! Oh well (sobbing). As for behaviors, I am very open to correction/suggestion, so please let me know if anything sounds awry.

Well, we're almost caught up to my backlog of stuff I had pre-written for this story, so updates will probably be a lot slower. Please be patient! I am trying my best! Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and support. It means everything to me.


	7. As Lost As Last Year's Easter Eggs

Also known as The Neverending Dialogue Chapter. Notes at the bottom.

* * *

Wes gave her a big hug like they've met more than once and have known each other for years. He smelled like mustard.

"Hey! How's it goin'? Glad I could convince Soul to bring ya!"

He was too tall, or rather, she was too short, and her cheek was pressed uncomfortably into his shirt. "M'good," she tried to say. She heard Soul's boots whistling across the carpet as he struggled with all the dogs.

"By convince you mean blackmail, right?" he corrected.

"Tomato, potato."

Once she was free of Wes' crushing, giant grip, she asked, curious, "Blackmail?"

The elder brother smiled congenially. "Revenge, really. Don't suppose _you_ saw me rope, Maka?"

Soul made an annoyed grunt and interrupted before Maka could worry about whether or not to laugh outright at Wes's roping skills. "I was busy, I said. And don't believe that accounts for you draggin' her into this anyhow."

She was beginning to understand that she was not entirely present for this conversation as they ignored her questioning stare.

"Plans within plans, little brother."  
"So you don't know how to mind your own business, is what."

Wes waved a hand flippantly. "Not everythin's 'bout _you_. I want her to meet Gran."

Soul's eyes went pensive very abruptly, while his brother gestured with an open palm and said, "Makes sense, don't it?"

"...Still don't like your roundabout way gettin' somewhere."  
"Yeah, yeah."  
"At least ask her directly next time."  
"Okay, yes, fine, I'll even do it now. Maka, would you like to meet our Gran-gran?"

Wet dog noses sniffed every square centimeter of her ankles and knees. With a sour twist of her mouth at finally being acknowledged by not one, but _two_ cryptic Evans brothers, she replied, "Don't see I've got much of a choice, now do I?"

Wes was all smiles and apologies, assuring her that it wasn't as bad as all that. "You'll love her, I promise. She's old-school! You'll get along like boots n'spurs," he said, leading her further into the living room.

"Both're painful bein' kicked by," Soul remarked behind her just as Tanya and Bill Evans returned from the back yard, each carrying a large pitcher of sun-brewed tea.

* * *

Every one of them made a fuss over where she should sit, and Wes looked pleased once she was settled in a worn loveseat. Maka was not entirely sure why, until she realized the pristine recliner on the other side of the coffee table was untouched and evidently reserved for someone other than Soul.

He was going to sit next to her, and the notion settled over Maka's shoulders like a nauseous weight.

She noted the ranch hand would only keep his attention on the one greyhound still prancing around him, confirming her suspicions by avoiding her accusatory gaze and passing up the empty chair to head towards the loveseat. Bill said from a longer couch, seated next to his wife, "You got a hitch in yer getalong, son."

Soul paused a moment before continuing to casually seat himself next to Maka. "I'm alright." She watched him roll up his sleeves. She hadn't noticed him favoring his leg at all, and she found herself giving him a worried once-over. Her attention must've irritated him, because he finally made mild eye contact with her. "M'fine, I said," he muttered quietly, before growling, "Damn it, dog, just sit," to the greyhound.

Wes draped an ankle across a knee, seated in a folding chair instead of the more obviously comfortable recliner to his right. "Lookit you, dog whisperer," he said, amused, as the greyhound pretended to be a lapdog for his younger brother. "What'd you do this time? Harley dusted you again?" He gave Maka a conspiratorial wink across the living room.

"Again? You got thrown from that horse and I wasn't around to see?" she baited, but tried to convey with her uneasy smile that she was still worried about the injury on his thigh. Soul gave her the smallest tilt of an eyebrow before deftly avoiding a sudden collision with Eisenhower's streamlined head.

"Weren't nothin' like that," he said. "Few days ago a **mule** got after my foot."

It only took one incriminating glance out of the corner of his eye for her to flush.

"You seem to pick the rowdiest equines to work with, Ethan."

Soul wanly replied to his mother, "S'not that I'm lookin' for them. They seem to find me just fine, though."

A look at Wes and his little smile told Maka that the elder Evans brother fully recalled a lack of mules on Angel's End. Eager to direct her blushing face away from anyone who might be staring, she turned to the greyhound sitting as daintily as a boulder in Soul's lap. She scratched under the dog's chin. "Is the silly ranch hand being a grumpy butt? Yuess."

Silly Ranch Hand scoffed and glowered first at her, then at a snorting Tanya before asking, "When's Gran s'posed to get here?"

"Should be here on the hour," Bill replied.

Wes glanced at a walnut colored grandfather clock steadily keeping time near the back door. "Ma, that's five minutes ago, go put on some clothes already!"

Tanya Evans only slid off the couch to sit on the floor, scratching various dog ears. "I _am_ wearing clothes," she smiled.

Maka watched the familial interaction with wary interest. Wes rolled his eyes at his mother's falsely-benign naivety. "I know it, but you know how Gran gets."

"Oh, boy," Bill said, and leaned comfortably back into plush couch cushions. He appeared to be a veteran of whatever type of storm was approaching.

"I know full well just how your _father__'__s_ mother is," Tanya said, giving a sidelong look to her son.

Soul shifted uncomfortably next to Maka, his dark denim grazing the side of her leg. Maka gave him a worried glance, but he gave her a bored shake of the head in response. _"__Don__'__t __worry__ '__bout __it__,"_ he mouthed.

"I'm just givin' a friendly-like reminder, Ma. She's very particular 'bout some things- right Pop?"  
"I'm only a spectator, son. Leave me out y'all's debate."

Wes sighed at Bill's neutrality. "C'mon, Ma, I want her to be nice an amiable to meet our special guest-"

"David Wesley Evans," Tanya smiled cheerfully (though Maka saw the crinkle to her nose was especially absent), "I will do as I please in my house, and you'll not be playin' diplomat, today."

Groaning, Wes stood out of his chair and walked over a handful of hounds, making his way back to the kitchen. "Yes ma'am," he airily conceded, waving off the troublesome weight of his full name being spoken. "I'll go and finish them deviled eggs."

Dusting her rounded, hot-roller bangs off her brow, Tanya said, "Married to the family thirty-four years, you'd think a person deserves a sanctuary." She gave an imploring look to Maka, who nodded automatically, and perhaps in self-defense.

"Congratulations," Maka side-stepped. "Thirty-four years is..."

"A long time," Bill said, deadpan. He nudged his knee playfully against Tanya's shoulder after she glared at him. "Would ya like to hear how we met?" he asked, eyebrows raised and smooth forehead wrinkling into amused ridges.

Behind her, Maka heard Soul mutter in agony, which naturally prompted her to say, "Absolutely."

Wes cried a dramatic, "Nooo!" in the distant kitchen, but the Evans couple remained unfazed.

"Well, we met on a starlit night," Bill started, fingers lacing over his belly.

Tanya corrected this. "It was broad daylight at the feed store."

"She had flowers in her hair-"  
"Dandelions, actually. I'd been weed eatin'."

"And she turned to me n'said," Bill then attempted a horrible falsetto, "'Does anyone here sell four-cycle oil?', and I knew it was love."

Maka giggled behind a hand, and looked to Tanya for further correction. The woman only said, "That part's accurate."

With complete lack of enthusiasm, Soul said, "That's downright poetic, Pop."

"Damn right it was and be grateful, else you would'na been born."

Soul tilted his head back to rest on the couch with a sigh.

Suddenly, every dog sprawled around them- including the greyhound in Soul's lap- lifted its head and perked its ears in the direction of the front door. Eisenhower immediately launched from his perch, presumably racking the ranch hand in the process. Maka laughed in a combination of entertainment and nervous pity.

"**Augh**, Christ-"  
"Language, Ethan. Get the door, your brother is busy."

"I'm goin' already," he said, sulking and valiantly attempting to walk without wheezing. "Askin' for just a scrap of mercy."

Maka could not have predicted the moment when Ruth Evans, stonewash-silver hair, stoic posture, seventy-five, walked quietly into the house, that every animal in her proximity would calmly trot after her. No baying, barking, jumping, or chaos of any sort was to be found.

All of this helped mirror and accentuate Soul's countenance as he respectfully led his grandmother to the living room. The woman's hand was wrapped around his offered elbow, and as they walked, it was all at once apparent where Soul's less stocky, leaner frame came from.

"Happy Easter, Gran," he said.

"Thank you, honey. I see you've hurt yourself again." The two shared a look before Soul glanced away with a grimace and led Ruth to her seat.

The empty chair was for her. Several dogs flopped at her feet as she sat. Ruth gently patted Soul's hand in either gratitude or dismissal- it was difficult to tell one from the other. She did not lean back into the recliner.

Despite all the things that Soul had warned her about on the drive here, Maka felt a glimmer of admiration already, though she hadn't spoken a single word to the woman. She couldn't decide if it was the older woman's obvious riding experience showing through the way she held herself, or the near-reverent way Soul treated her, or even just the strangeness of fifteen-too-many composed dogs, but Maka very much wanted to make a good impression on Ruth Evans.

Automatically, Maka found herself standing from her seat as Soul's parents did. Tanya and Bill both made their way around the coffee table, stepping around hounds, bending over to hug and greet Ruth. If Soul's grandmother said anything about Tanya's appearance, Maka missed it, because she was too busy having a silent conversation of eyebrows across a living room with Soul. As disquieting as it was to admit, _he_ was the most familiar face here, and she had to look to him for guidance.

She stood uncomfortably off to the side, shrugging her shoulders at him. Should she go introduce herself? Should she pretend she didn't exist? He shouldn't leave her standing here cluelessly!

...And just why in the hell did she care in the first place? Wasn't this the _family __of __sellouts__?_ Hadn't she told Tsubaki she hadn't cared one way or the other what any Evans would think of her? But Maka increasingly felt nervous in this otherwise normal situation. She had a feeling horse snot would be on the menu in the near future.

It was an Evan's Family team effort in the end that brought her forward to Ruth, with Soul quietly motioning her over, Bill announcing there was someone for his mother to meet, and Tanya grasping her by the elbow to deposit her in the direct center of everything. The heavens seemed to twist around her, dizzying, as she locked eyes with not the diluted red she had expected, but a mirror-shine of icy blue.

Lightly, between her shoulder blades, she felt the faint warmth of a hand seeping through her dress. It took her a moment to realize whose it was.

"Gran, this is Maka. I work on her ranch."

She flushed, glancing over to Soul briefly but not wanting to cause a scene the moment she needed to introduce herself. Maka held out an unsure hand. "Pleased to meet you." Ruth took her hand in both of hers, enveloping it in strong thumbs and warm wrinkles.

"Your ranch?" she asked.

Maka stammered. "Ah, it's not really mine- my papa's the owner."

Ruth shook her head, eyes watching her. "No, the name of your ranch, honey."

Her fingers were gently squeezed. "Angel's End," she heard herself numbly say. Distantly, she wondered if she would ever be able to name it in the same lilt everyone else did.

"That's what I thought," Ruth said. Her head tilted up in recognition. "You're Suzanne's. A pleasure."

The hand between her shoulders, the dogs, the people, even the very ground beneath her feet all vanished in wake of this woman. Maka's eyes flew wide. "You knew Mama?" she asked, voice almost a whisper.

Ruth nodded, carefully styled, grey hair moving with her like a crown. "When she was younger. You remind me a lot of her. In the face." After a once-over, she added with an almost-smile, "Mmm. And height."

Maka's face hurt with the size of her smile. A laugh escaped her throat. Not knowing what else to say, she replied with, "Thank you."

"I was sad to hear she passed. My condolences."

An alienating, but all-too-familiar rush of cold crashed into her from all sides. Her face felt tight, but she managed a sincere smile, and nodded. Ruth let her hands slide away from her offered one, and, in a daze, Maka found herself walking back to her seat, the spot between her shoulders feeling chill as she went out of Soul's reach.

Sitting next to her again, sans greyhound, Soul's eyes were a prodding her with some kind of silent question, but Maka studiously toyed with a fold in the skirt of her dress instead. She concentrated on simply breathing. Anything more than that might tip the scale from casual ache to drowning misery, and she could not trust meeting his glance.

She told herself to act normally. She'd been fine until just now, but she can't quite grasp the feeling anymore.

Once everyone was re-seated, Ruth asked, voice raised, "Where is my other grandson?"

Wes poked his head around a corner. "Right here! Merry Easter, Gran. I'm fixin' yer favorite."

Ruth did not appear to smile or frown, but her eyes crinkled in a warm, amused way. "No paprika for mine or your brother's, I hope."

"Of course," Wes said. "I dipped Soul's in the kai-yan pepper, but yours're perfectly safe."

She pointed a gnarled finger at him. "That's no way to treat our Spitfire, young man," she chastised before cool eyes swivelled to her younger grandson.

Soul rubbed his hand over bandana-covered head, complaining how little slack he'd been given his entire life regarding 'that stupid pepper', and Maka let out a long breath, relieved by the return to normalcy.

She decided in that moment that Ruth Evans was her favorite.

* * *

The devilled eggs were delicious. As were the kebabs Bill had grilled, the salad greens and various sides Tanya had prepared, and, unsurprisingly, Tsubaki's cookies.

"Now Miss Maka, you never did tell us how you two met," Bill prodded.

The implications of his question forced Maka to stop chewing and look accusingly at Soul. To her greatest displeasure, he did not immediately affirm that he and Maka were not in any kind of relationship and should not, by any means, be compared to Tanya and Bill.

All he said was, "Well, on the ranch," matter-of-factly.

Wes's smile, beaming at her from across the room like a spotlight, reminded her that any misunderstandings involving Soul and herself had likely been brought to life by him. He dusted crumbs off his jeans, the nearest dogs swarming like a school of starved fish. "Yes, but _how__?_ The 'how' is somethin' to always make note of," he said.

Maka _made __note_ to never hug that man again.

"Our son is awful tight-lipped about his job, we'd love to hear anything about it," Bill said.

Again, she glanced at Soul, who gave her a bland look that seemed to read 'I told you so' before taking a long sip of his drink.

The job fell to her, then. "Well, actually," she started, trying to remember the first time she'd ever spoken a word to him, "I didn't ever talk to him until we were looking for a lost calf."

"Pretty sure you hated me," Soul interjected, placing his glass on the coffee table.

Maka couldn't bring herself to deny this, so she awkwardly shrugged, smiling. Wes guffawed.

"Oh, my," Tanya said.

"You need to work on yer first impressions, son," Bill added.

"I don't need nothin'."

Maka waved her hands a little, to clear Soul's name. "No! I, um. I had initial... misgivings." She struggled to start the story. "But he- _You _said- This guy just goes 'welp' and jumps in the hole like to heck with breaking a leg!"

"I seen where I was goin'-"  
"Right."  
"I did!"

Ruth shook her head, unsurprised. "Did you find the calf?"

"Oh, he was fine. Soul helped me carry it to my truck."  
"...Then you stepped in the mother of all pies."

Maka clapped a hand over her mouth. She mumbled, "You _saw_ that?"

"You looked so mad I prayed I wouldn't laugh and get killed," he said, finger rubbing under his nose. The others in the room all wore some type of amused smile (or, in Bill's case, was holding a stomach and chortling), and Maka's mouth hung open, unable to respond.

"Man," Soul directed to Wes, "she kicked a tire like it was what dropped anchor in the first place."

Embarrassed, she exclaimed, "I just got these boots that _day__, _okay? They were still shiny! Anyway, we're both driving back to the house and I'm reaching over to pet the calf and-"

And suddenly, she recalled the rest of the memory, of her forearm accidentally pressing the transmit button on the handheld radio, and what she had said unknowingly into it. The words stopped in her mouth and the room is met with silence that she didn't know how to fill.

"You hit the pothole," Soul supplied.

Maka turned to him, confused and lost. "...Pothole?"

His eye contact was steady and unwavering, a murky blood unshaded by the brim of his missing hat, which was something she wasn't accustomed to at all. "Saw the headlights in my mirror. Thought you bounced the poor thing to the floorboard," he teased.

She realized what he was doing, and that locked gaze was there to inform her that everything out of his mouth was now truth, if she went along with it.

"I-I did not! He was perfectly fine!" she argued, trying to sound offended. At least it wasn't a lie on her part. She blushed a deep scarlet, and the family seemed to take that as her shame for hitting what Soul explained as the Most Obvious Hole in Existence, because Bill assured her that it happened to the best of them. They were unaware that her flush came from somewhere else, stemmed from the realization that it was this very family she had put to the stake, her disdain and judgement of 'sellouts' being the one idea that halted her in her story.

"_Have __I __been __unfair __to __the __sellout__, __little __one__?"_

Curiouser still, Soul had covered for her instead of jumping on the chance to incriminate her in front of his family. By all rights, she deserved it, but he had done nothing of the sort.

The subject changed from sinkholes to the new-old hay bale hauler, and while Maka answered these questions automatically, she couldn't wrap her head around why Soul Evans had lied so smoothly to his family.

"It's too bad 'Lizabeth couldn't make it," Tanya said during a lull in the light meal, back on her preferred spot on the floor.

"Yes, I noticed your... _girlfriend_ isn't present, today," Ruth added.

The sudden lack of amiable smile on Wes's face seemed to snap a lightning-quick intensity to the atmosphere. Voice neutral, he replied, "She spends Easter with her sister."

"And her mother," Ruth said shortly.

Maka's eyes shifted between the two of them, unable to gauge just what was going on. Wes smiled a default smile and said, "And their ma, yes."

Ruth hummed once, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. She sounded displeased, and Maka supposed that Ruth had previous dealings with Cristina Thompson. She couldn't fault the woman for appearing sour; Maka didn't like Tina, either.

Still, the uneasy air of the living room grated on her, as well the dubious looks Bill and Tanya were giving each other on the sidelines. She spoke up, voice bright. "How is Liz doing, anyway? I haven't been able to visit her much lately at work, I've been so busy."

Wes looked both surprised and gratified at the shift in subject. "Ah, she's doing alright," he said. "Still working hard. Oh, told me to tell you her cell's changed- she gave the old one to Tina. I can give you the new number if you want?"

"Sure, I'd appreciate it."

The gravity of Ruth's stern frown dragged Maka back from her temporary escape from awkward. Her polite words seemed like an accusation when she asked, "You're acquainted with Elizabeth?"

Maka could hardly remember life before the Thompson sisters. She found herself smiling despite the tense room. "Yes ma'am. She and Pat are practically family to us at home. They're like sisters to me."

Across the room, Wes rubbed under his nose, which struck Maka as something familiar. She turned to look at the person beside her, who had taught her to recognize this tell in the first place, and watched Soul smile a small smile as he took a drink from his sweet tea.

Bill Evans found something about the situation hilarious, belly jumping with his chuckling as Ruth replied with a simple, "I see."

Tanya swatted at her husband before standing. "Well. Let me grab your plates."

Maka, being polite and rather weirded out by every other Evans member in the room, asked if she needed any help, but Tanya shook her head a little too suddenly, grinning.

"Thank you dear, but I know Ethan would love to give his mother a hand."

"Good luck," Maka hears Soul mutter before snorting and happily stacking her empty plate over his.

It occurred to her that this was orchestrated abandonment. They were _trying_ to leave her with 'Gran-gran'! She didn't understand the purpose behind it, but she knew she was right because the next thing Wes said, all too conversationally, was, "So, Gran! Maka here's got herself some ropin' skill."

Feeling very much the pawn, Maka frowned at Wes, tugging her dress closer to her knees. Her face warmed. "Better than you, anyway," she quipped.

"Not to be makin' light of yer ability, but it'd be safe to say just 'bout anyone's better'n Wesley with a rope," Bill said, thumbnail scraping between two bottom teeth.

"Wow," Wes deadpanned, handing his plate to his mother. "Thanks for the support, Pop."

"Nothin' but the finest for my firstborn."

The two Evans brothers simultaneously scoffed. Soul called as he strolled into the kitchen, "What rank was that anyway? A two? Three?"

"Quit tryin' to fluff me up, it was a one, alright? Goob." Wes turned to Maka and added, "Quit yer snickerin'."

Maka grinned, holding up her hands. "You're right, you're right. I'm not even ranked at all."

"Wes mentioned you'd never competed," Bill said.

Looking briefly at Ruth, who had yet to say anything on the subject, Maka shook her head. "I haven't. I've done a few timed runs at home, but I couldn't tell you where I'd rank. None of it was official." Soul entered the room again, this time picking up trays with leftover food. With mister six-point-eleven himself in her midst, Maka was torn up over how to feel about her own, unofficial time. She did know that his curious glance before he turned back to the kitchen made her cheeks burn.

"Well?" Bill smiled. "What was your best, then?"

"Uh, it- it doesn't really mat-"

Tanya leaned around the corner, hands busy with opening a large freezer bag, and said, "Six-nine-two."

And then Maka was completely ejected from the conversation.

"_Really__,"_ Ruth said with interest.

"It was jus-"

"Wes told me." Tanya disappeared back into the kitchen.

"W-wh-"  
"Lizzy told _me__."_

Maka's shoulders slowly inched to the ceiling, unable to get a word in edgewise.

"How come no one told me?"  
"Plainly 'cause you laugh everytime I mention ropin', Pop!"  
"Ahah, true."

"Crazy for not competin', I say," Tanya echoed from the kitchen.

Throughout all the comments thrown around, Maka was slowly pulled by the magnetism of Ruth Evan's scrutinizing eyes, blue like a crisp winter sky. "And why _haven__'__t_ you competed?" she asked.

"Because!" Maka blurted into the sudden silence. She nervously swiped her bangs out of her eyes. "...Because it's degrading to not compete alongside men. Everything's already separated by rank- I don't see why they have to make it even more so just 'cause I'm a woman. So I want nothing to do with it."

Ruth rested her elbow on an arm of the recliner and thoughtfully placed her chin in her waiting hand. She nodded faintly, and Maka got the sudden feeling she'd just passed a test somehow.

"I'm sure having such a skill is more than enough for ranching, though," the woman said. "Are you planning on taking over in Spirit's stead sometime?"

Papa's words murmured in the back of her mind. _"__You __concentrate __on __your __schoolin__', __Maka__."_

She'd been eager to change the subject from roping, illogically bashful about it in the presence of a certain district champion, but this wasn't much of an improvement. Her voice sounded hollow when she finally brought it to life. "I haven't decided. I'm currently in veterinary school, and my plan was to stay on the ranch and doctor the stock myself, but..." Her eyes automatically follow Soul, who'd walked back into the room, weaving around dogs for the last of the leftovers.

"But?" Bill prompted.

She wasn't sure why she was serving up this information to relative strangers, but she supposed if there was any one family on this planet that could share an understanding, it would be this one.

"Maddy Georgian made an offer."

Ruth's eyes widened slightly, her chin lifting off her hand with interest. It was the first that Bill Evans had appeared troubled at all since Maka's arrival, while Tanya and Wes both exclaimed "Did she really," from various parts of the house in the exact cadence. Soul, paused in his trek to deliver empty dishes to the kitchen, cautiously peeked over his shoulder at Maka.

She looked away from that No Purpose shadow in his eyes. "So, I may end up at an actual vet in town anyway."

Ruth looked suspicious. "Spirit plans on selling?"

"No," she said, back snapping straight. "Absolutely not. I'd be taking the job to keep us from... from going under." Having the words being spoken from her own mouth made her heart burn.

Bill nodded in the silence. Tanya came into the living room, standing next to Wes and bending to pick up one of the smaller dogs. "I'm sure you'll do fine, darlin'," she said, stroking the animal's face.

"Thanks. Still, I'm not really looking forward to it, I guess," Maka admitted, and faintly she wished, just a little bit, that the spot between her shoulders didn't feel so cold. "My mentor told me there are already a few places that're waiting on my certification, but I..."

It dances off her tongue before she can think about who was lurking in the kitchen doorway. "I'm not meant for city life."

Tanya replied, voice low with empathy, "Neither are we, honey."

Like a shade, Soul quietly drifted out of sight.

* * *

She was mostly silent for the long drive back home. In her lap was the tray Tsubaki's cookies had been sent on, but was now occupied by multiple plastic baggies of Easter lunch leftovers. Soul was driving again, but Maka hadn't made a fuss over it.

When the road wheedled down to the familiar, two-lane backroad that they would follow for many miles to her family's property, she asked, blunt, "Why did you lie, anyway?"

Soul blinked a moment, fingers shifting on the steering wheel. "What abouts."

After seeing his brother and mother feign innocence when avoiding a question, Maka felt she could now accurately spy an Evans playing dumb. "You could've made me fess up. About what I said that night. Over the.. the radio."

He sighed heavily. "They like you. Specially Ma."

She didn't know what to say to this, glaring at herself in the passenger side mirror. "E-even so, I don't deserve it."

His fingers raise atop the steering wheel, casually greeting another truck that drove by. "Maybe. Maybe not." He drove a distance, slowing for a sharp curve. The worn suspension of her truck creaked and groaned. "They get enough hell as it is. Just didn't wanna bring it in their own house, n'all."

'Hell' being the word 'sellout', she gathered. "Sorry to make you lie," she said quietly.

"Won't say it ain't your fault," he said, voice tense. "I'm not sore about it as long as- about my folks- I mean, you can hate me til kingdom come but-"

"No- your family was wonderful!" She was torn between wishing he didn't have to watch the road to see her sincerity, but being thankful he couldn't see the shame that must be plastered to her face. "I'm really glad that, um..."

He offered dryly, "That they weren't what you thought?"

"**No****,"** she blurted, indignant. "That I got to meet them," she corrected. That being said, she still didn't quite understand why she'd been invited in the first place. But she was still happy to have visited. "It's nice, to see-"

And her throat abruptly locked up, catching her by surprise.

"To see..?" Soul asked the road.

She swallowed, the words 'to see a whole family' crammed tightly behind her tongue. "Nothin'," she forced out. She reminded herself to breathe through it, to not let the scale tip, to not look at the ranch hand who made quick, worried glances at her sudden change in behavior.

"Maka."

"And I don't hate you," she said scathingly, trying to save face.

She heard him quietly huff. "...Are you sure?"

Maka spoke to the trees winding away, their shadows blending into a place she sometimes felt where only ghosts were allowed to live. "Usually I'm sure. Sometimes you throw me for a loop."

His voice was gentle when he teased her. "You toss your own rope just as far, darlin'," he said.

She rolled her eyes, turning away from the window. "Don't call me 'darlin''."

"_Ma__'__am__."  
_"That's worse, I sound old."  
"You _are_ old."  
"You're older than me! _Sir__._"

Soul scrunched his face in disgust, turning on the truck's headlights to shine through the oncoming twilight.

"See?" Maka insisted.

He cracked a smile. "Alright, alright. Shortbread."

"Spitfire. ...And I'm sorry about your foot."

He had that same tilt to his eyes as his grandmother when he looked pleased. "It'll just come out of you Oreo paycheck," he said.

She wondered how a person could be so forgiving.

* * *

!

!

Notes:

'hitch in yer getalong'- Bill is saying Soul looks like he's limping.

'kai-yan'- cayenne

'dusted'- to be thrown off a horse

'playin' diplomat'- Wes appears to be a bit of a manipulator, but Maka's not really sure just what he's trying to accomplish- only that she knows she's been involved without much explanation.

deviled eggs- freakin nasty stuff don't eat them they're terrible for you. Hard boiled eggs with the cooked yolks removed, seasoned, and squirted back into the whites. If you like them, I'm sorry for your tastebuds.

'the mother of all pies'- as in cowpies. see chapter one.

'dropped anchor'- to put it bluntly, pooped.

'rank'- in this case, Maka and Wes and Soul are talking about individual ranking in calf (tie-down) roping. Ropers are ranked by skill and are separated to compete with other ropers of similar skill by a number that slowly goes up with improvement. Rank 1 is pretty much basic beginner's level. Headcanon places Soul at around a rank 12, which isn't the top but still pays well, if I understand the system correctly, which I may very well not.

'goob'- goober

'fess up' - I don't think this is the first time she's used this phrase, but it's just slang for 'confess'.

!

Marsh: Special thanks to VictoriaPyrrhi for being subjected to all my headcanons of the Evans family. Sorry Jeb, all that hard work with the hyphens and ffnet decided to take them all back.

Sorry this one took so long. I've been on this scene since I posted the previous two chapters of this fic. I'm glad it's out of the way, becuase I don't like it very much, and I'm hoping the next few parts of the story will come more easily. Thank you all for you fantastic support and fanart and argh, you guys, I'm gonna have to put all of your art in a book or something aaaagghhg thank you I love you.

As always, reviews are welcome and appreciated. If you have any questions I will do my best to answer them either here or on my tumblr.


	8. You Got Your Stupid Head On Today

Notes and vaguely helpful definitions at the bottom! I do not own Soul Eater, Jeep, or uhhh Nabisco? Whoever makes Oreos, anyway.

* * *

In her father's office, her hand ran across the saddle. She was infuriated to find dust on it. Sandy grit coated her palm and she made it her business to clear it all off Mama's pride and joy, swiping it repeatedly, determined to make it clean again. The dust revealed only more dust, which revealed more dust, which gave way to dirt and tree roots. She looked around for something to use, a shovel or pick or any kind of tool to help her get past everything in the way, but instead, she found something else.

On Papa's desk was that old cardboard box. It had once been white but had faded a greyish beige over time, held together with packing tape. It sagged a little to the side with the weight of its contents. The flimsy lid, creased from being bent more than once, beckoned her curiosity.

She wanted to know how such a benign looking object could keep her father from home so many hours a day. It was a Pandora's box of information, but she thought that the chance of hope at the bottom might not be worth releasing all the horrors in between- the things that have etched dark lines under Papa's eyes and kept his gaze focused somewhere else.

She decided not to open it, yet her hand was on the lid, lifting it away. Nothing crazy came flying out of it like she expected, so she leaned over, peering over the edge.

At the shadowy bottom, darkness squirmed and writhed, all hope smothered by snakes.

* * *

Maka woke forty minutes before her alarm. She felt with certainty from intangible sources that she would be better off staying awake than risking more dreams. She took her shower early, hoping that the corpse-like feeling that had settled into her skin would ravel away in the steam. The residual sense of foreboding gifted by her dreams only continued to drag at her.

She made her way downstairs to start the coffee. Maka navigated through the dim kitchen, not needing light to know where everything was kept. This was how she startled Soul Evans when he came in the back door and flipped on the overhead lights.

His reaction to seeing her only gave off more of the sense that today was just not going to be an easygoing day. The ranch hand froze in the doorway, hat already shading his eyes. Maka frowned at his less-than-friendly demeanor so early in the morning. Hadn't they been more or less on comfortable speaking terms after yesterday?

Well, if he wasn't going to say 'good morning', neither would she. Maka blearily poured water into the coffee maker, questioning the powers that be how she had let someone who could make her so irritable listen to Mama's cassette tapes. "You're up early," she said.

Soul recovered at this, shutting the door behind him. "...To pick up Pat," he explained. "Cept my truck ain't runnin'."

Maka paused in her scooping of fresh coffee grounds. She looked up at him in realization. "Oh."

"Came lookin' for you, to tell the truth."

She groaned, rolling her neck around in weary resignation. "You've already paid for gas, so you may as well."

He quietly huffed, which might have been a laugh. "What's that? You're not gonna threaten to kill me?" The slight teasing drawl to his voice finally broke the awkward atmosphere since he'd flipped the lights on.

Maka gave him Suzanne Albarn's patented Look. "I think it goes without saying that you know what's coming to you if so much as a paint fleck is missing."

His quirk of a smile was brief but real enough. The brim of his hat dipped down once in a nod. "That's better. Feels like a normal day, now."

Her mouth hurt from trying to be displeased and amused at the same time. She ended up asking if he wanted some coffee, but before he could answer, loud banging erupted outside.

Without looking at each other, Soul took off for the back door to investigate while Maka hurried to the boot tray to slip on her shoes. No sooner had she sunk her heels snugly into her black snakeskin, she heard the ranch hand begin shouting angrily outside.

The clover covering the ground near the stables was slick with dew, and she slid a little in her rush to see what Soul was cussing over.

Harley ran by, out and free, a giant plastic bucket between her teeth. As she trotted along the fence line, she purposefully smacked the bucket against each rail and post, scraping and rattling the entire way.

"You're gonna be glue you _brat__!"_ The horse had evidently felt too cooped up the past few days while her hock had been healing, and managed to escape the stables as well as let herself out of the corral. "Get your overpriced ass back here!"

Maka yawned to stifle her smile. "She needs to get back in before she breaks that scab open," she said.

Soul growled. "I know it, I know it. Where's Pat keep them ginger cookies..." He stalked off to the stables, but he got only as far as three paces before he stopped himself. "Ah, hell." Soul looked at Maka. "I still need to get Pat."

They both looked at his horse, who'd nearly manage to shatter the plastic bucket into shards, then looked back at each other.

He thumbed towards Harley. "You think you could..?"

"Like hell," Maka blurted.

Soul rubbed his face, looking apologetic. "Are you busy? Do you, uh, have to go to class or anythin'?"

Something inside her stomach decided to make the tiniest of somersaults, seeing Soul try to grasp after what he'd apparently noticed of her schedule. Maka decided some spicy food for lunch today should stamp that feeling right out.

She turned away with a grimace, heading back to the house, cheeks heating for reasons she sincerely hoped weren't actual _reasons_ and more of some type of... social allergy. "Don't worry about it," she said over her shoulder. "I'll get Pat. Go catch your 'rowdy equine', Spitfire."

She retreated too quickly to catch what he'd sputtered.

It was too early in the morning, clearly. She wasn't firing on all cylinders. If she had been, the idea of Soul Evans actively attempting to get to know her better through careful observation would not have caused any inkling of pleasure whatsoever. She self-prescribed a travel mug of coffee to take with her to Liz's house to help clean out her mental issues.

Soul was still trying to coax his stubborn horse to him as Maka circled the driveway and left, watching in her rear-view mirror as all the house's windows came to life one by one. The cattle guards knocked her radio on as she passed over them, and Mama's tape began to play.

Maka sipped her coffee on the smoother expanses of road between memorized potholes. She believed she might be feeling better. Wakeful distance had dimmed the dread her dreams had given her- dreams which she could hardly recall in the first place. The sun was starting to peek over the far horizon, pebbled by silhouettes of trees. And then Patricia Thompson's signature red Jeep Wrangler flew past Maka going the opposite direction.

Her foot involuntarily let off the gas pedal, the truck coasting while she tried to make sense of what she had just seen. As long as she had known the woman, Maka had never seen Tina Thompson up before ten in the morning, so seeing her driving her daughter anywhere before the sun was even fully up was both strange and disconcerting.

The cassette tape clicked and switched sides as Maka slowly pulled off into the shoulder to make a wider turn for her truck on the narrow road.

* * *

Tina parked at the front door. The front door was a place where visitors parked when they 'requested a meetin'', and was not a natural place for Pat's Jeep to be. She noted that in the time spent driving halfway to Liz and Patti's house, her father had already left for work, his cruiser missing.

If Papa was already gone, why would Tina have bothered to come calling? As Maka walked up the back porch steps, she saw a very occupied kitchen through a window. The quiet murmur of the presence of multiple bodies filtered outside, led by Tsubaki's voice in higher, polite key- which wouldn't be an unusual thing to hear, except it was just a quarter after sunrise on a Monday morning.

Maka let herself in through the back door, and Tsubaki's words cleared, taking on a strained, awkward quality.

"I'm sure I've mentioned this already, but, as you know, the owner has already left for work-"

"You're the gee-em though, ain't you, honey? You handle all the money."

"Under his supervision, yes ma'am," Tsubaki answered politely.

Maka quietly shut the door behind her, the silence of no one turning to greet her making apparent the tenuous act everyone was putting on in the kitchen. Seated at the table was Tsubaki, who was dressed though hadn't had time to put her long hair in her usual ponytail, and the dark threads clung haphazardly to her face, accentuating the inconvenience Tina's arrival had caused. Across from her sat the woman in question, who'd made an overcompensated effort at looking professional for this meeting, which made her appear less like an adult and more like a young girl with strange wrinkles and aged skin attempting to dress maturely but hadn't had enough practice.

At Tina's elbow sat Patti, wearing her usual clothing to muck the stalls before having to attend class, but her face was glowing in embarrassment. She pointedly looked away from the table, focusing on Mitch who was starting up another fresh pot of coffee.

Seemingly oblivious to any kind of professional goings-on at the kitchen table, Blake Strickland mopped up egg yolk from his plate with a half-eaten slice of toast. He smiled brightly at Tina when she gave him an unamused look at his unneeded presence.

Despite everyone not acting casually, they were _pretending _that this was a casual affair, trying to negate Tina's attempts to make whatever it was she wanted a business matter. Maka sighed and toed off her boots to put back in the tray, one hand on the wall to keep her balance. She looked to the side and exchanged glances with Soul. He gave her one silent, implied warning while he dried his dishes with a slight raise and dip of his hat. _Beware._

Tina pressed onward. "Surely he trusts you enough to not hafta watch every little thing?"

"That's not for me to say," Tsubaki replied.

Maka pulled a mug from the cupboard and leaned on the counter next to Mitch. She grabbed a slice of buttered toast from the mountain pile of it by the stove and held this out to Patti. "Morning, Pat," she said.

The girl wore the ghost of a smile and took the offered toast. "Mornin' Maks."

They were ignored.

"Everyone in town knows Sue Strickland," Tina said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table conspiratorially as if everyone in the room couldn't hear their conversation. "You're the one who's really runnin' this outfit while Sheriff Albarn's busy patrollin' and whatnot."

Maka watched a shadow pass across Tsubaki's face, a brief shimmer of anything but the calm she was presently displaying threatening to break through.

"So, I know you don't hafta call him up for every little decision. Patricia's not askin' for a million dollars, just a little advance to help her make it to next payday, you know?"

"Yer right, she ain't askin'," Blake said as he loudly scooted up and out of his chair, empty plate in his hands. Patti scrunched her eyes at that comment, as if willing to be anyplace but in the kitchen. Tina's back straightened high, frowning mouth already filled with venom to spit her indignation at his words, but Tsubaki hurriedly interjected to thwart incident.

"I do apologize for not talking with him about it when Pat first brought it up, but I've already told you I feel uncomfortable with making these kinds of decisions without the owner's input. I'll speak with him this evening to see what we can do."

The kitchen subtly shifted, relaxed, as Angel's End knew a dismissal from the General Manager when they heard one. Blake whistled as he rinsed his dish, Mifune poured Maka a cup of coffee, and Soul made his way to the back door to get to work.

Cristina Thompson, however, either did not hear the end of the conversation, or simply could not take 'no' for an answer. A falsely-amiable laugh came from her. "Well, you see, this evenin'? That's a little too late for us."

Patti placed her uneaten toast on the kitchen table, mouth pinched as if nauseated. Tsubaki's eyes flitted between the two Thompsons, trying to gauge Tina's meaning. Soul paused at the door, his hand on the knob. Maka froze with her coffee mug halfway up to her lips while Blake and Mifune exchanged glances.

Tina held her chin high. "As you may know, I _am_ unemployed," she said matter-of-factly, with a shifting of her shoulders that challenged anyone who'd judge her for that statement, "and I _am_ acceptin' my daughter's help to get on my feet."

Maka's hand tightened around her coffee as she watched Patti bitterly roll her eyes.

"But the bills're a little higher than normal this month? And if they don't get paid today, we'll be findin' ourselves in a bit of a situation."

She didn't like the sound of this one bit. "Pat," Maka said, "Is there gonna be some kind of troub-"

"_Excuse __you__,"_ Tina cut in with a glare like barbed wire. Maka bristled at being interrupted, but said nothing as she'd interrupted the conversation in the first place. What grated her most, though, was the way Patti's mother then turned her head back to Tsubaki, as if Maka wasn't even worth fully reprimanding. Incensed, she scowled, but Patti caught her attention.

The girl shook her head and mouthed a 'no', though Maka didn't know if she was answering her question or if that was her own version of _beware__._

"As I was sayin', that's why we're here askin' you for help. Even half a week's pay'd be fine!"

Conflict was apparent on Tsubaki's face, and the woman knew she had the attention of every pair of eyes in the kitchen, save Patti's. She sought after eye contact with the horse wrangler, but never received it. She sucked in a deep breath and let out a sigh, one hand rubbing the underside of her slowly-growing abdomen.

"I'm sorry, but this really is something that should be discussed with the owner, not just me," she said with sincerity.

All attempts at professionalism were dropped by Tina at this. "Really?" she asked, skeptical.

Patti finally turned her head towards her mother and hissed anxiously, "Would you quit, already?" but Tina paid her no attention.

"And Patricia speaks so highly of you."

Tsubaki's eyebrows shot to the ceiling, her voice coming out offended and bewildered, both. "I'm _sorry?_"

"Just what're you insinuatin'?" Blake blurted, abandoning the still-running faucet at the kitchen sink.

Cristina Thompson stood from her chair, hand slapping loudly on the table. The sound cracked through the kitchen like gunfire. "This is an emergency, here! Are you just gonna sit there and let-"

Maka knew the exact moment her vision bled to red. After seeing Tsubaki's polite mask fall off like peeling paint, watching Blake stride to the table and align himself at his wife's shoulder, and feeling the slight shift in the air around Mifune as his sights focused on Patti's mother, the very last straw that snapped Maka's control was Soul's wary call of her name, which might have been his attempt to calm her down, but only fanned the flame of her anger instead.

"**Now wait a minute,"** she bellowed, slamming her coffee mug on the counter and ignoring its sloshing contents spilling everywhere. "If you're gonna be making underhanded remarks about our manager, do you mind also telling us exactly just what kind of an emergency you're in?"

With her hand still firmly pressed to the wooden table, Tina turned her head to regard Maka as one would upon finding a pebble in their boot. Her tone was sweet and heavy Southern Belle, reminiscent of her elder daughter but with an air of condescension. "I came here to have words with someone with authority, honey. So you kin butt yourself right on out of this, 'cause it ain't your business."

Needles rolled up her spine at the jab to her rank. Maka's mouth kept flapping despite knowing, faintly, somewhere in the endless depths of her pride, that she should probably shut it. "Regardless of my job here, I'll make it my business. If you got her into some trouble, I wanna know it, because _here _Pat's family to us."

What the other members of the ranch might be doing or saying around her, she was completely unaware. All her focus was on Tina Thompson and the almost amused shake of her head, a vicious smile tugging up on one side of her mouth. "No," she said. "She _ain't."_ For all Maka knew, the house could have been in uproar or complete silence. The din of her boiling blood rushing through her ears was deafening, and yet this woman's voice cut through it all like a whip.

"What you need to understand," she said, "is that Patricia is **not **your sister." Her voice took on a quality that seared into Maka's bones, permanently etching themselves into her marrow like acid. "She don't live here. She's never lived here. She lives with me. She's _my_ daughter."

Maka heard her teeth grinding in her jaw, but not loudly enough.

"She's my daughter and she'll do as she's told, 'cause she's a good girl. 'Cause _I ain't __**dead."**_

Echoes of screeching chairs and scuffling boots vaguely made it through to what was left of her rational consciousness. Her throat burned, hot combs dragging their teeth across her vocal chords. She didn't know what she howled, only vehemently wished that what she wanted to express (_"Get out get out go AWAY"_) would come out in a normal language. It must have worked, because that woman who dared call herself anyone's mother was retreating, tugging Pat by the wrist, baring her teeth at everyone who herded her towards the front door.

But then it occurred to Maka that she didn't want Patti to be taken away, and her blind fury blanched and evaporated. She became aware of her surroundings, of Blake's fuming face in her line of vision, of one of his hands tightly holding her arm to keep her from going any further across the front porch, of actually _being_ on the front porch despite having no recollection of even passing through the door.

"The hell do you think you're doin'?" he hissed at her, while beyond him, in the driveway, Tina Thompson called at the same time, "Don't worry, Patricia will be findin' work elsewhere!"

Wait, no, what was happening!? What had she done? Panicked, Maka tried to move around Blake's roadblock of a body, and called out, "Pat?"

"We're goin'!"

"I don't see why I gotta go anywhere with you, who weren't never around but for a blink!" Patti's voice cracked as she screeched, pitched high and childlike as she tried to twist her wrist out of Tina's hand. "Lemme go! Maka!"

She rushed forward to pry her away from Tina, but Maka was harshly yanked back once more. Blake wrestled with her a moment before she finally looked at him, infuriated with his interference.

"Would you knock it off," he said. "Your fat mouth's made enough mess of everythin'!"

Behind him, Patti continued to call for help, but to Maka's incomprehension, _no one went to her._ Then Patti began to call out single names. "Sue? C'mon! Black St- _Blake!_" she pleaded, eyes wide as Tina ordered her to get in the Jeep.

Blake swallowed, grip never letting up on Maka's arm as he responded, "Mind your momma, Pat."

Shock painted Patti's face, her mouth forming around a 'what?' in disbelief, but voice failing her. With minimal nudging from her mother, she melted into the passenger seat. Tina firmly shut the door, ignoring everyone from Angel's End as she marched to the driver's side.

Maka couldn't make any sense of what was playing before her eyes. This wasn't how things worked on Mama's ranch! Behind the windshield, Patti's eyes focused to the left, and Maka followed them to Soul, who stood a few feet away on the porch. Conflicted, his eyebrows were drawn low, jaw clenched tightly.

The engine started, and Patti hurriedly cranked down the manual passenger window, her voice carrying over the lowering glass and through the chill morning, ringing for any one adult to step in. "Soul, **please****!"**

Heart in her throat, Maka realized that, through his brother and her sister, Soul and Patti had a connection outside of the ranch, and she vehemently hoped that this was a good enough reason to get anyone on this damned property to do something useful! At Patti's plea, she watched the ranch hand's entire body jerk forward, but Maka's hopes were swept away as Soul restrained himself with a forced breath rushing out of his nose.

Leaning partially out the window, Patti's face fell and collapsed into betrayal as Soul said, "Go on now. You'll be late for school."

Tina backed up the Jeep and drove down the driveway, Patti numbly sitting in her seat. Maka didn't understand. Why was everyone standing around with their goddamn thumbs up their asses? She tried to escape Blake's grip again, but the man held her fast just the same. This was stupid!

"No!" she shouted at Soul, who looked at her in shock. She wanted to sink her fingers into his surprised face and rip him to pieces. "How can you let her go like that? You're like a brother to her, aren't you? You just abandoned her!" She relished the pained look that flashed across his eyes. "Why didn't you do anything?!"

"Because he's got more sense than a _mule,_ unlike _you!_" Blake growled, forcing her to turn back and face him squarely. "What in God's name is your problem?"

"Wait," Tsubaki said worriedly from the door frame. "Black Star-"

"Did you NOT hear what she said?" Maka blurted, disbelief flooding her voice. "That-"

Blake Strickland leaned close and snarled, "_You think you're the only one still hurtin'?"_

Thrown off-balance, rage utterly tranquilized, she could only stutter, "W-what?"

"We all miss her, Maka, but you just can't control yourself, can you?"

She scrambled after her scattered pride and indignation. "I-! I wasn't gonna stand there and let her talk about Mama like-"

"Like she was dead?" Blake huffed uncomfortably, and there were less knives in his tone when he spoke again. "I hate that I gotta make it plain to you, but _everythin' that Tina Thompson said was true."_

Maka balked at this, refusing to believe it. He was mistaken! There had been a maliciousness to everything Tina had said, an offensiveness that turned even the most factual of truths into lies, but Maka neither knew how to explain it, nor properly convey why she had _needed_ to react so violently at the mention of Suzanne. In the end, all she ended up murmuring was, "You don't understand."

"Of _course _I don't," he snarled, sardonic, and with a sudden and painful clarity, Maka saw something in his face that she had never once noticed in her entire life. "None of us were hers but **you.** I get it!"

"Blake..."

Whatever kind of expression she had on her face only embittered him further. He shook his head angrily, changing the subject. "We're shorthanded as it is, alright? So what you gotta figure out is that the rest of us? We're _still here._ And if you keep tryin' to run everyone off 'cause you can't get a hold of your damned pride, then Maka, there ain't no purpose for _any_ of us stayin' here."

Maka shied away from him, burned. He let her go without any resistance, but as she turned to walk away from the house, he said, "I ain't through with you, where d'you think you're goin'?"

"I'm gonna muck the damn stalls!" she hotly shot back, voice warbling and caustically echoing down the covered porch. Maka's shoulder brushed past Soul's as she misjudged the distance through her burning eyes.

* * *

She didn't know what she was going to tell her father. Explaining to him that, while he had probably still been driving to work, she'd screamed at a grown woman, ran her out of the house, and simultaneously lost Angel's End's horse wrangler was not something she wanted to do.

Re-incarcerated, Evans's Lipizzaner-wannabe snorted at her from the other side of a jerry-rigged gate lock. Soul's rushed handiwork shone with a length of heavy chain snapped together by a simple carabiner.

Blood still roiling with frustration and misery, Maka's first instinct was to simply shout at the stubborn horse. But having been around animals all her life, studying to become a veterinarian, and sitting through many lectures from Patti (the mere thought of whom made her gut twist) had taught her negative emotions towards a horse only brought trouble. She held her tongue.

If only she could remember _that_ when she was around people. But the facts at hand said she hadn't, which caused Patti to lose her job, and now she had to take responsibility for her actions. Even if she felt such actions had been justified.

Then again, Mama probably wouldn't have condoned her behavior. _(But if Mama had been around to not condone anything, this morning's conversation wouldn't have happened in the first place, would it._)

Maka's throat was tired from abuse, aching from yelling and holding back tears. She couldn't be sure which direction she was headed. She longed for the guide that her mother had always been, because everything was falling from her hands, and the emphasis now wasn't the exodus, but rather from whose hands it was all escaping.

She regarded the horse in front of her and grit her teeth. Harley shifted anxiously behind the gate, having heard all the morning's commotion. Beyond, the rest of the horses in the stables were making noises of nervousness, feeding off the cues from their snooty ambassador and accustomed to being let out by now.

"I really don't have time for you," she growled at the stubborn mare, whose ears were focused on Maka like twin laser sights of a gun. "How'm I supposed to clean up after you if you won't get out of the damn way?"

The horse, being a horse, didn't reply. Maka was not eager to open the gate separating them.

Luckily, just as she was coming to terms with knowing she'd have to go ask for help to distract the horse so she could get to mucking (which wasn't a pleasant thought as she didn't know who she could face after this morning), Harley turned away from her, called by silence.

Of all the people Maka had been bracing herself to speak with for assistance, Soul Evans had not been anywhere close to the top of the list, even though it was his own horse that was hindering her work. He stood outside the corral, Harley walking away to greet him.

The sun felt very warm on her cheeks as she stood there, her body a statue made entirely of guilt and and embarrassment. "Go on," he said to her conspicuous silence. "I'll keep her busy, but I got work to do."

The correct thing to do would be to thank him, or, better yet, apologize first and _then_ thank him, but the expression on his face when she'd accused him of abandoning Patti this morning was too easy to picture under that hat brim. Maka fumbled with the carabiner clip and let herself into the corral, hurrying to the stables without a second glance.

She'd never felt more of a ranch princess in her entire life.

The hand stuck around long enough for Maka to clean out Harley's stall, and disappeared into ether the moment he'd locked the horse back up again. He hadn't seemed to want to talk to her any more than she'd wanted to look him in the face.

She let her frustrations do her work for her, quickly and vigorously mucking stalls in effort to keep abreast of the sun mercilessly arcing across the sky, but even so, the job should've been long done by now. She was working on the stall belonging to Mifune's horse (three-year-old gelding, paint, fondly named 'Cow'), when she was startled to find Soul had materialized back into existence.

He quietly regarded her, leaning on a support beam, and she had no idea how long he'd been standing there. Maka huffed, trying to shake off the adrenaline from being surprised. She tried her hand at a snide remark, because that was what she would have done any other day, but it came out timidly petulant at best. "...Thought you had work to do," she softly said. Angry with her sub-par performance, she redoubled her efforts at mucking the stall.

"I do," he replied behind her.

She waited for his boots to scuttle off somewhere but they remained firmly planted. Her gut twisted, not wanting to have any confrontation with this man so soon. She settled for sifting out manure from the bedding and ignoring him as best she could while having the distinct knowledge that she was being stared at.

After a nerve-grating silence, Soul drawled, "Now that Pat's gone, I imagine I'll be helping with her chores, so you may as well face me when I even got my hat turned up and everythin'."

She cringed in the stall, pitching a clump into an almost-full wheelbarrow. Pride warred with reluctance as Maka attempted to not sheepishly look over her shoulder. Soul's face was more or less neutral, bordering on uncomfortable. She wasn't sure what to make of the dark smudge high on his right cheek, but didn't let it distract her from bracing herself for what undoubtedly was coming.

"I need a ride to town."

Maka's eyebrows dragged together. "W-what?"

Soul's eyes shifted off to one side as he idly scratched between his shoulders on the post. He sighed. "There's a part in town I need to fix my truck."

Was she relieved he hadn't brought up this morning, or aggravated that she'd prepared herself for nothing? She couldn't decide. Turning away in her bemusement, she got back to sifting through bedding. "Just go ahead and take mine. You were about to earlier today already, I don't care."

But still he didn't leave, and her patience was wearing thin. He should spit it out already! Maka glanced once more at the hand. "...You know where the keys are," she said.

The words were barely out of her mouth when he shot back, "Come with me," as if he'd been waiting for her eye contact before he could say it.

She tried to say any number of excuses to get out of it. She had work to do, or she didn't need anything from town, or she trusted him with her truck, but all that came out was a handful of stammering. Something in Soul's expression, or posture, or imploring tone of voice only made her recall a conversation from the night prior- of her admission that she didn't hate him and his skepticism of that fact.

It's this and knowing she owed him an apology that made her turn back to her work and say, "Mitch's horse gets a scoop of sweet feed."

And her heart thumped anxiously in her chest when she heard him walk to the feed barrel.

* * *

It wasn't until she buckled her seatbelt that she realized his intentions for bringing her along. Up to that point, she'd been too busy trying to figure out why he'd wanted her to go in the first place- she wasn't even driving. But it was something in the finality of her seatbelt clicking together on top of the constrictive feeling of the strap over her chest that clued her in.

This was a trap.

The ranch hand had lured her with a false sense of security by not bringing up the scene she'd caused in the kitchen, and now had her trapped in a moving vehicle so she couldn't escape when he finally _did_ bring it up. She knew some words needed to be exchanged, and she'd planned to get around to it, but on her own terms, and not corralled in a small space.

They've traveled almost to the point on the road where she had turned around after Tina Thompson this morning, when he started with, "So."

Maka thunked her head on the passenger window, hoping she could somehow phase through the glass. "Get it over with," she groaned.

She heard the familiar button clicks of the truck's cruise control being set. "About earlier, I'm pretty turned around on what happened."

She sighed, her breath fogging up the window.

"I'm just wantin' to get my facts straight."

"Well get to straightening."

The seat creaked a little. "First point bein': you're sore 'bout your mother and I should skip right over any mention of her."

Maka tensed, her bones aching with leftover acid.

"Second: the reason you're actin' all sullen is 'cause you know all that with Pat's momma coulda been handled different."

Bitterness seeped into her mouth as she recalled that woman standing in the kitchen, who'd reached out with her words, grasped the knife still embedded in Maka's heart, and given it that casual quarter-turn. Half of her insisted that her reaction had been justified, but the other half- the part of her that understood yelling only made things worse- told her she should have just held her tongue, and kept her accusations for someone who _did_ have authority, like her obvious 'daddy-sheriff'. Instead of keeping her head, she'd lost it. Instead of handling the situation like the grown woman she was, she'd thrown a tantrum.

Instead of going to the police with her fears of what kind of trouble Tina may have put Patti in, she'd made everything worse by shoving the girl even further into Tina's hands, and yelled at other people in the process.

"Thirdly," Soul went on after a silence, "...you said some ugly things to me, Maka."

She grimaced. "I know it," she said to the window.

"But Tina is Pat's momma, so... there weren't anythin' I coulda done different from anyone else."

The apprehensiveness in his words caught her off-guard, dragging up memories of firelight glinting off silvery harmonicas. Maka looked away from the window, realizing that she'd been wrong once again. Soul watched the road as anyone with trouble on their mind watched without actually seeing.

This hadn't been a trap set up for her at all.

She said, "I know there wasn't anything you could do, no matter what I said."

The scant buildings and faded water tower of the nearest town slowly bloomed into view. Soul took in a big, calming sigh, though it did nothing to lessen his stormy expression. He took off the cruise control and coasted to stop at a train barreling by at a crossing.

"Her _face__,"_ he said after awhile, and the inflection spoke for itself.

Like counting calves in the spring and fall, her eyes automatically followed each train car that passed. The words came easily when she realized they were both sick with heartache at the memory of Pat's broken expression as her mother drove them both away. "She'll forgive you. Probably not me, though." She felt rather than saw his glance. "If I had just kept my mouth shut, none of this would've happened." Maka watched the end of the train speed out of sight, the signal arms slowly reaching for the sky. "It wasn't your fault at all," she murmured.

Soul didn't reply. He drove to the town's single auto part shop and parked in the pot-hole-ridden lot. He left the truck running. As he opened the driver's side door and slid out, he stopped for a moment to look at her, adjusting his hat over his eyes for either public appearances or for what he was about to say.

"She still shouldn't've said that about your momma, or you. Tina, that is." And he shut the door and walked inside the shop.

Words of gratitude still had a tendency to get caught in her throat like everything else. She waited in the truck, and was grateful for the reprieve. It gave her some time to will away the flush that had overtaken her face.

When he returned, he deposited a heavy bag of various objects- boxes, quarts of motor oil, tools, shop rags- into the empty space between them, which she worriedly transferred into her lap for safekeeping the moment he turned out of the parking lot and it had slid to floorboard.

"Sorry," he said, but he sounded a little too amused to be sorry.

She huffed a little as she tied the handles of the bag into a knot. Then she noticed they were taking the long way home through town. "...Where are we going?"

"Just one more stop. Won't be but a minute."

Soul's last stop was at the local grocery. He came out of it with a small paper bag that had been rolled shut at the top.

"You wanna hold this one too?" he teased as he settled behind the wheel. Maka pursed her lips and took the bag from his hand, giving him a mild glare as she settled it next to her on the seat and kept her hand securely on it.

He turned up the volume on her radio a little and began the trip home. No more attempts at conversation were started by him, and Maka felt strangely at ease during the quiet drive. Mama's tape kept them company, and soon enough Soul was pulling into Maka's usual parking spot.

She was still unbuckling her seatbelt when he slowly reached over and retrieved the bag filled with auto parts. Before she realized what had just occurred, he was already out of her personal space and replacing her keys in the overhead visor. Then she saw he'd left the paper bag at her side.

"Ah, don't you need this one?"

Soul opened the door and exited the truck. Without looking at her, he said, "Naw, that one's yours."

Her seatbelt hissed as it retracted. "...What?" Maka opened the bag, peering into the shadows and finding a glint of blue at the bottom. She scoffed.

Soul leaned down a little to see her, one hand on the outside of his door. "Just keepin' my word good, Albarn." And he straightened and shut the door.

Maka watched Soul amble to the back porch and let himself in through the familiar door of her home. She took in the slant of the roof, the sturdy pillars, the thrown-open windows. Her hands slowly tightened around the paper bag, wishing to close the gaps between her fingers so nothing could fall between them.

At the bottom of the bag was a package of Oreos.

* * *

!

'gee-em' - GM. General Manager

muck - to clean out/freshen up horse stalls. they kinda poop a lot.

'jerry-rigged' - also 'jury-rigged', meaning hastily organized or assembled, or crudely put together in a pinch.

carabiner - also karabiner, it's just a metal hook or loop thing with a section of it spring-loaded so that it only opens in one direction. you probably have one on your keychain or backpack.

sweet feed - a type of feed given to horses with a bit of molasses mixed in. The molasses was originally used to help supplements and vitamins and what have you stick to the feed, but some horses just really like it because it's tasty. it's debateable the benefits of one feed over another, but regardless, Mifune has a soft spot for animals and cute things, and likes to give Cow something sweet now and again.

!

Marsh: Hey guys. It's been awhile, yeah? This chapter was giving me a lot of hell, for reasons I think should be obvious by now. Not so obvious are some of my IRL issues, which I am trying to get a hang of as well. I want to thank every one for their support in both fandom and real life, and sometimes both at once. If you have any questions, please feel free to drop them in reviews, or PM's, or asks on my tumblr. Thanks very much.


	9. You're Why Evolution Takes So Long

Marsh: Soul and Maka continuing their game of 'shit, that's not what I meant'. Also some more Blake Strickland, because he is the best.

I do not own Soul Eater, Google, Chevrolet, Nabsico, Keystone Light (thank god), uhhh and any other trademarks/brands/whatever I may have mentioned.

* * *

Her father liked a spoon of sugar and two glugs of cream in his coffee.

"Sweets." He was seated in his usual booth at the diner. "I already know what happened," he said, knowing Maka had a tendency to fix his coffee for him when she felt guilty. Liz wasn't on shift, so another waitress brought them their food. Maka scooted his mug towards him and glumly regarded her salad.

"What'd she say to you," Spirit asked, concerned.

Maka wryly smiled as she unwrapped her napkin from her provided silverware. "Nothing I didn't already know," she replied. In fact, as she'd gone through yesterday's incident a hundred times last night, unable to sleep, she'd realized she had admitted much the same things Tina Thompson had said.

Not all that long ago, either, to a cowboy next to a campfire under the stars.

Her father sipped his coffee. After a moment, he said, "I'm in contact with her parole officer."

She looked up at her father, curious.

"We'll keep an eye out, should they get mixed up in anythin' they shouldn't."

A heavy pressure gently eased from her chest. "I'm sorry," she blurted as relief filled her heart.

"I know you are."

"I'll take care of it."

"I know you will."

Maka mixed dressing into her salad, solemn and grateful.

"How was your Easter," her father asked, and the heavy moment was over.

At the mention of the holiday, her memory flitted to the ghost-like sensation of a hand between her shoulder blades, and she shifted uncomfortably under Spirit's stare. "Ah... it was alright," she hedged. She recalled all too easily the glare Spirit had when Soul had been standing in her bedroom doorway, and it was clear he knew exactly where she'd gone on Sunday. Maka attempted to avoid the ranch hand as a direct subject.

She made a show of counting all of Soul's family members on her fingers. "Wes, Tanya, Bill, and Ruth all say 'hello'. Oh, it seems like Ruth doesn't like Tina much, either," she said, a tiny, amused smile creeping on her face.

Spirit shook ketchup over his fries. "She doesn't like any of the Thompsons," he remarked.

Her smile was wiped clean. "Really?" she asked. Though she remembered getting a strange feeling about it during Easter, she'd given Ruth Evans the benefit of doubt. "Even though Wes and Liz have been together for awhile?"

He nodded and took a hurried bite out of his patty melt. "Thinks 'Lizbeth is one of them buckle bunnies."

Maka stared at her father, having never heard him use the term 'buckle bunny' in her life. "A bu- _what__?_ No she is _not__!_"

"Of course she's not, 'hon," he said, trying to placate her. He waved a hand, gesturing to lower her voice. "I'm sayin' what Ruth Evans thinks, is all."

"So she thinks Liz is after him for money?" she hissed, offended. "I know she's wanted a nice set-up for a long time, but she's not that kind of person!"

"I know it, Maka."

"I know you know, I'm just mad," she spat. She had really liked Ruth, but now she didn't know what to think!

Spirit motioned for more coffee to be brought over. "Ruth is tryin' to protect her grandson. Miss Tina has a reputation that's runnin' off to her daughters. That's all what's happenin'," he calmly said.

"That doesn't make it right- they shouldn't be judged over what their mother has done-"

Maka blinked. Her father said nothing, merely nodding once more in agreement as he tipped cream into his refilled cup. She wondered if she had any right at all to be speaking the words she'd just blurted.

"Your mother and Ruth used t'know each other. Maybe you'll talk some sense into her." Part of her reflexively tensed at the mention of Suzanne, but the majority of her attention was focused elsewhere as Maka watched, rather worriedly, as Spirit drained his coffee like it was water. He set the empty mug down. Food half-eaten, he tossed the napkin from his lap on the table.

"Maybe," she said, distracted. "Papa," she started to ask, but she felt, distantly, that she was opening a lid to a box of which contents she didn't want to examine. After analyzing the dark smudges under his eyes, she changed her question to, "How's work been?"

He stood from the booth, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket with the familiar motions she had seen countless times before. He sighed, and gave her a cryptic answer that didn't make her feel reassured like she'd hoped.

"Keep your wits on, sweets. Mama's not gonna call us out when we're goin' too far, anymore," he said as he paid for lunch.

One worry replaced another while she watched her father leave the diner. Looking up at a yellowed wall clock, she realized she needed to head back to the vet, her lunch break nearly over. She asked a server for a take-out box, deciding to save Papa's food for him.

Maka gathered her belongings and walked toward the diner door. She was thrown slightly off-balance as it was pulled open from the outside by an incoming customer. As she stepped out of the building, she turned her head up to a tall man and habitually thanked him.

She was startled to recognize his face. It was Maddy Georgian's burly chauffeur.

Her feet faltered when, in turn, recognition flashed across his scruffy features as he looked down at her from his towering height. She watched as he paused a moment, then deliberately looked away, greeting someone out of her line of sight.

She dared not turn her head when he said, "Afternoon Miss Georgian." The man shifted slightly, not invading Maka's space but still subtly suggesting that she should move out of the way.

Her blood was already boiling, remembering the owner of Lazy S and her voice forever in the back of her head, repeating _'__cherish __it__'_. She moved out of the way, resolutely walking to her truck and telling herself that she couldn't make another scene; every time she lost her temper nothing good ever came from it. She shouldn't look. _She __shouldn__'__t __look__._ She needed to keep her wits on.

She looked.

It wasn't who she'd expected. The unfamiliar woman's features were similar to Maddy Georgian's in that the two women were beautiful in some refined way, but that was as far as the similarities went. Perhaps they only shared a last name. Perhaps she had nothing to do with Maddy Georgian and everything was coincidence.

Even her manner of speaking was different, vowels drawn long and quietly southern. "Boone. Ah know we're here on business, but ah must insist: call me Renee."

Maka forced herself to unlock her truck's door as she heard 'Boone' laugh good-naturedly, though it sounded a little hollow. "Force of habit, Miss Renee. Your sister ain't the most _personable_ employer," he said, voice fading, the diner door chiming as it closed.

* * *

She knew she was being nosy. She couldn't justify booting up her laptop and Googling 'Renee Georgian', but she was watching the painfully deserted front desk at the vet, her paperwork was done, and there was high-speed internet for the taking.

Maka hadn't expected to find anything, much less see a professional photograph of the woman she'd seen at the diner, complete with Wikipedia article.

Renee Georgian, CEO of Hourglass Diagnostics, brunette, and an appallingly youthful fifty-three.

Hunching closer to her laptop, Maka found Renee to have her fingers in an impressive array of pies, various businesses with her influence scattered across the country. On top of the diagnostic labs, she was involved with textiles, oil refineries, cosmetics, wineries, and even a brief mention of a law firm. Known philanthropist and a rising figure in the stock market circuit, she sounded amazing and entirely too rich to be seen eating at the local greasy-spoon diner in a town with a population of less than two thousand.

But the photo was a dead ringer for the woman she'd seen, without a doubt: Dark eyes, darker hair, and a shock of blood red lipstick on a pale, porcelain face.

"That _has_ to be a typo," she muttered after double-checking the woman's date of birth.

Maka closed her laptop and drummed her short, blunt nails on the surface. To be honest, there hadn't been anything suspicious about that woman, so she didn't understand why she felt so apprehensive.

The more she thought about it, the less justification she had for her uneasiness. The only strange thing she could pinpoint was 'Boone's' deliberate lack of reaction after having recognized her at the door, but then again, she didn't know anything about the man or his habits, so she was back at square one in her unexplainable musings.

Abruptly jolted out of her distraction, Maka jumped in her seat, the front desk's phone loudly ringing. The plastic handset felt chilled against her ear as she tried to relax on her barstool. "Nygus Veterinary- how can I help you?" she answered reflexively.

"That you, Maka?"

She blinked, numbly waving to a local mail carrier walking past the front windows as she parsed the voice on the other line. "Wes?"

* * *

David Wesley Evans was the type of person who gave directions though landmarks and approximates, because street names were too beyond him to remember accurately. It was a common practice for those who'd grown out on dirt roads with road signs bearing naught but buckshot scars, but impractical for a town that had actual lights instead of faded stop signs. It took Maka fifteen minutes longer than necessary to navigate to his one-story brick house in a quiet, back pocket of a town.

"Honestly, if you'd just given me the address I could've looked it up on my laptop before I left work," she pouted at him after she parked her truck near his mailbox. He laughed, giving her that bear hug that she still wasn't accustomed to, but she saw the tightness at the corners of his eyes.

"Yeah, prolly. Glad you made it though." He gestured toward the front door. "Lizzy's inside."

Wes's living room contained a small arrangement of cardboard moving boxes and Elizabeth Thompson sitting on the floor, head resting on a plush couch behind her. Upon seeing Maka enter with a case of Keystone Light, the older woman didn't say hello, though she half-way smiled. Worrisome awkwardness bounced between all three of them until Wes left to take care of errands he wished he could put off, trusting his girlfriend into Maka's care.

"You know," Liz said with the opening hiss of her beer when it was just the two of them, "this is about all I ever wanted." She swept her arm wide, indicating the bright windows facing the backyard, sliding glass door revealing a glittering swimming pool. "Central A/C, a house with a concrete slab under it, loungin' around with cheap beer-"

"Liz..."

"Thanks fer bringin' it, by the way. I'll pay ya back."

"It's on me."

"You're prob'ly busy."

"I have time."

"You don't wanna hear my drama."

"Yeah I do."

Liz slumped a little further into the blue-gray carpet, her hair sticking to the plush cushions of a microfiber couch. After tilting the can back for a sip, she helplessly said, "He's such a good guy, Maka. He didn't even ask it like a question when he found out. 'Jus said 'you'll live with me and we'll git through it', and showed up like a knight on a big... Chevrolet horse." She smiled, but at a dim wattage. She reminded Maka fiercely of Patti. As if reading her mind, she lifted up her wrist and glanced at an old, scratched watch. "Pat's gettin' home 'bout now, figurin' it out."

Everything in Maka's chest tightened with an ice that burned. She tried to keep her voice neutral, but her hatred for Tina Thompson bled between her teeth. "Why'd she kick you out?"

Liz shrugged. "We fought about gas money. Pretty dumb, huh? Then some creep came knockin' on the door lookin' for her and wouldn't tell me what for, and I was scared she was gettin' in drugs again so we fought about that too. _Then_ I heard Pat lost her job- I'm really sorry for whatever Tina musta said to ya'll," she said earnestly, veering off the subject. "Don't take it to heart, she's 'jus gotta stir up trouble everywhere."

Maka groaned, face heating with guilt. "Don't apologize, it was _my_ fault she took Pat away. And besides, Tina's not your responsibility-"

"Yeah she is," Liz scoffed. She tiredly looked at the living room ceiling. "She's got this _need__,_ like everyone's out to get her, so she's... harsh, and she's dramatic, and... _so __damn __tiring_. All it do is git her more up shit creek." She sighed, the dry sound trapped between squat pillars of Liz's scant belongings boxed in tan cardboard.

"She's your mother though, and a grown woman," Maka insisted, not comfortable with how heavily weighed down her friend's shoulders seemed to appear.

"Naw, she ain't," Liz replied. "Well, she's my momma, but she never growed up." The glowing, sun-kissed makeup she always expertly wore couldn't hide the age in her face. She idly searched the ceiling for something that Maka knew couldn't be found in daylight. "I abandoned her, Maks. I left her alone with Momma."

With a pang, Maka swallowed, having personal experience knowing when that particular word was being thrown around incorrectly. "No you _didn__'__t__,_" she said, vehement.

* * *

Patricia Thompson would be eighteen in two months. Until then, a friend of the Evans family whom Wes would speak with would try to help Liz fight for custody, though Liz had seemed unwilling to accept any more of her boyfriend's help.

Still troubled with the thought of the Thompsons and also extremely late for supper, Maka finally pulled onto Angel's End. She went to the stables first, and found what she'd unhappily suspected: Soul had taken care of the horses in her absence. She wasn't ungrateful, and they had agreed to split the duties because of Maka's veterinary work, but she still hadn't wanted the ranch hand to take over her responsibility the very first day- she had enough guilt to deal with as it stood.

Patti, Liz, Tina, and Soul all jumbled her thoughts as she walked into the kitchen, and she was unprepared to see Blake Strickland still sitting at the kitchen table, peering intently at the screen of an old flip phone too small for his hands. At her entrance, Blake gave her a contemplative stare.

"Where've you been," he asked, no question mark.

Maka glanced at the phone in his hands, then back at his guarded eyes. She moved to the cabinet that held the drinking glasses. "Wes called me. I helped Liz unpack." And got the older woman inebriated, but she kept that to herself. Though she no longer faced him, she could feel the absence of Blake's eyes like a relieving weight as she poured milk into the glass. Behind her, she heard quiet button tapping.

He finished his text and snapped the phone shut just as she heavily set the glass of milk on the table directly in front of him.

"You want milk," she said, no question mark. Blake looked at the glass and then at her. Maka frowned at his expression. "What, did I sprout horns or something?"

"That's what I'm still decidin' on," he said warily.

She rolled her eyes and dug through the kitchen pantry, moving to her secret space behind the canned artichokes that no one named Blake Strickland would ever touch. She pulled out a brown paper sack, sat in the chair next to him, and placed the bag between them.

Elbow on the table, chin propped in a hand, she feigned indifference as he opened the bag and set out the new package of Oreos. Without a word, Blake peeled open the plastic, took a cookie, and dunked it in the milk. The only sound in the kitchen was muffled crunching for awhile, until his phone buzzed on the tabletop.

He ignored it. He ignored the next two buzzes, but the air still hung heavily between them with unspoken words. It wasn't until he's through the first row of cookies, the glass of milk speckled with chocolate crumbs, that she finally said something.

"You're hers, too," she said. She thought for a moment that she should correct herself from present tense to past, but she decided against it.

Blake didn't say anything, but he handed her the next Oreo.

Nothing else was said as they ate, and it slowly became a challenge to finish the entire package; it had become a gluttonous symbol of reparations, and the session couldn't be complete until it was empty.

Maka rested her face on the table and groaned. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Blake grimaced, twisting the last sandwich cookie apart for them to split. "Quit whinin'. I ate the first row by myself."

She chewed on the cookie half like an unwanted vitamin and swallowed. She stuck out her tongue in disgust.

Chugging the last of the milk, Blake let out an uncomfortable belch that rang throughout the kitchen like signalling the end of a rodeo ride. "Oh yeah, 'fore I forget," he said before slapping a crookedly folded sheet of paper next to the carcass of Oreo packaging.

His chocolate-marred grin put her on edge. Her hand cautiously closed over the paper. "...What is it."

"Bought and paid for is what. So you'n the spitfire better not waste my cash, right?"

As she opened the sheet and vaguely registered the creaking of the stairs as Blake Strickland's hasty retreat from her growing ire, Maka gazed at her name snuggling up next to 'Soul Evans', both listed in a sixteen step competition for an upcoming rodeo.

Nobody said anything about a competition! _"__Black __**Starrrr**__**,**_" she hissed, wishing to roar but not willing to wake anyone who might be asleep at this hour, and that damned skunk-heart's evil chuckle cartwheeled down the stairs to her burning ears.

* * *

Tsubaki made a sigh of relief as she sat down. "I'm worn out. Will you call in the stragglers for me?" she asked, propping her feet up on an empty chair.

Maka took a quick headcount of who was already tucking into lunch (which was easy, because it was only Blake), and made her way outside. Three missing. No, she corrected, two missing, the third in guilt-tripping absence (but it didn't sting so much because she was usually still in school during lunch time). Then Mifune bumped into her on the porch.

"Ah-"

"Pardon."

"Dinner's ready."

For a moment, they stood in silence as she took in the worn laundry basket filled with what would normally have been considered a random assortment of clothing, but she knew better. Maka didn't mention it or the tell-tale rattle of a sewing kit in his shirt pocket. They parted ways without incident.

One down, one to go. She knew the ranch hand had been spending his free time working on his truck. She hadn't yet had a chance to talk to him alone since their joint trip to town the day before last, and she thought she might, maybe, if she felt like it, if he didn't call her some variant of 'short', thank him for a few various reasons that she would not catalogue right this moment.

Also, that dance registration paper had been burning a hole in her back pocket with the fury of a hundred summer suns. Maka wondered if Soul already knew about it, or what his reaction had been when he found out. She walked down the gravel driveway to the guest house where Soul's truck sat parked. Various auto guts were scattered across a tarp on the ground, including a recently scrubbed fuel tank.

She neither saw nor heard any sign of him. She hesitantly bowed to look under the truck, but found the space unoccupied. A knock and a peek behind the unlocked door of the guest house proved the same result.

Maka frowned, shutting the door. Had he gone in the house from the other direction, and they missed each other in the process? Slightly irritated, she walked back to the main house and entered the kitchen.

Tsubaki noted her befuddled expression. The woman asked a question with her eyebrows.

Maka answered with her own. "Did Evans get around me?"

Blake spoke up. "Wasn't at his truck?"

"Or in his place, either," Maka supplied.

The kitchen went very still.

"...He couldn't have gone far," Tsubaki tried to be reassuring as Maka stomped over to the counter where all the handheld radios were charged, and painfully, obviously, all present. She angrily yanked one from its cradle; one that was the oldest and yet the least scratched and battered from ranch use, because it had become the least used.

She didn't wait to see which directions Blake and Mifune chose. She just walked straight to that old red truck and let her guts do the rest. Fuming, Maka studied the horizon for idiot-sized shapes, wondering if she should've taken Skully, wondering if she should've taken a gun to shoot that idiot in the foot so he couldn't wander off...

Then Crona came around a tree, pushing his way through fresh spring grass already taller than himself to come greet her. She scowled, but tried to keep her voice light for the dog, seeing as he wasn't the one she wanted to strangle. "Hey buddie," she grumbled, and hurried in the direction the chihuahua had come.

Ankles crossed and hat over his face, Soul Ethan Evans was having himself a doze under a budding cottonwood tree. His chest rose and fell, and Maka, irate, started cussing so colorfully she was positive her mother would be proud, though her intensity scared the poor dog away.

Soul bolted upright, hat falling off his face to tumble out of his lap. He shouted in surprise, swearing his own slew of words. The moment he realized what was going on around him, he roared, _"__What __in __the __hell__'__s __wrong __with __you__!?"_

That was what she should be saying! "I'm gonna knock you so hard you'll see tomorrow _today__!_"

"Well mornin' to you too, sunshine," he sneered, dusting off his hat.

Incensed, she wedged her boot under his knee and shoved, wanting nothing more than to kick him in his grumpy face but settling for this instead because she didn't want his stupid brains dirtying her boots. "You jackass fool! If you aren't at home you take a goddamn radio!"

"Would you quit kickin'-" he shouted, struggling to get on his feet and away from her. His breath came out in a rush once he stood, because she immediately jabbed the radio into his gut. "It weren't like I was far, dammit," he wheezed. "You can see my truck from here."

Maka grabbed a fistfull of his shirt and yanked, hearing a couple snaps pop open. She hissed, "I don't know what it was like on your ranch, but on _mine__,_ if you're by yourself where no one knows, **you ****take ****a ****radio****."**

"Alright, fine! My mistake!" Soul shrugged out of her grasp, looking irritated. "Calm the hell down, why're you so red-assed about-"

"Dinner's ready so you best get in and say sorry to Sue for making your meal and then apologize to everyone else for wasting their time looking for your dumb ass!"

Maka spun away, headed back to the house to try to cool her head and maybe reassure Crona that none of her anger was with the dog.

"Albarn. _Maka_, 'jus wait a minute," he called behind her, frustrated. A hand wrapped around her upper arm and held fast until he could twist her to face him. His mouth opened and started to form around something, but his anger and confusion were wiped clean, replaced by bewilderment the moment he took in her face.

She didn't want to know what was on it. Whatever it was, she tried to mask it with a glare, shoulders inching up in defense.

"...Maka, what," he started to ask, and his voice was too soft, too hesitant for her to keep a firm grip on her fury she kept sealed around something else she hadn't wanted to feel- something she hadn't wanted him to see her feel.

Baring her teeth in a snarl, she could only say, _"__Ask __Sue__,"_ in a kind of desperation before she slid out of his grip and retreated.

Nothing else could have been squeezed out of her closing throat but that, anyhow.

Once she was back in the kitchen, she tried to absorb the normalcy the surroundings offered, but other things pressed in on her that she couldn't confidently hold at bay. She tried her best not to stomp up the stairs, attempted to appear serene, apathetic, uncaring, as Tsubaki radioed the other cowboys that Soul was accounted for, as Soul haltingly both apologized and tried to figure out with confused questions what was going on, as Maka quietly holed herself up in the bathroom.

She leaned heavily on her palms against the smooth countertop. A glance to the mirror clued her in to what Soul Evans had seen, and she averted her eyes. Her hands, flat and trying to suck the stability out of the very bathroom tile because she needed to _get __a __grip_, seemed to belong to someone else- as if this particular splay of fingers or this collection of blunt, uneven nails or this combination of vanity lights and midday sunshine streaming in from the small window above the bathtub/shower combo temporarily disguised them as her mother's- and she's caught between wanting to stare with a guilty, craven sense of homesickness, and wanting to look at anything besides _another __mirror__._

Through the door, even though Tsubaki's words were muffled and incomprehensible, Maka could feel the cadence, the amount of syllables, the unforgiving, still-waters-running-deep kind of ring to them. It was the easiest game of fill in the blanks.

"Mrs. Albarn forgot her radio, once."

And it was his, now. Older, but just a little more pristine than the others.

* * *

Somehow, in the moment she'd believed she was safe from those _not __subtle_ glances at the kitchen table from a certain nosy ranch hand (whom she was still slightly cross with for having made her heart momentarily collapse at the sight of him at the foot of a tree, motionless), he appeared.

He seemed to be very good at that.

Around her, horses were munching loudly on feed as she cleaned out and refilled water buckets, and there he was, pulling his shadow/shade materialization trick, adrenaline shooting to her toes from being startled.

"Keep that up and I'll cancel your birth certificate," she tried not to wheeze at him.

"Keep what up?" he slowly asked, confused.

Maka growled to herself and kinked the hose as she walked to the next stall. He hadn't shown those typical Evans signs of playing innocent, so she didn't pursue it. Instead, voice neutral, she said, "I can take care of it all today, so don't worry about it."

He replied, "Then take care of it," which made her grind her teeth. If he wasn't here to help, then he was here to confront her about earlier, and past events had taught her that she wouldn't find a way out of it.

Very tiredly, she said, "Just ask it."

There was a long silence, punctuated by the splash of water in the bottom of a bucket. Eventually, Soul said, "I won't."

Her hands tightened around the hose, unsure.

"You still look pretty sore about it, so."

She wished she could decide if she was grateful for his observation or frightened that he had observed anything to begin with. If she glanced at him now, would his hat brim be up or down? She didn't look.

"Ain't why I came here, anyhow." He paused while she moved on to the next stall, which was, unfortunately, closer to where he was leaning on his preferred post. "'Pologized to everyone else, but didn't get a chance to say it at you."

Was every confrontation with him going to involve some kind of reverse, sneak-attack guilt trip?! She shook her head, concentrating on her work. She'd tried this tactic before, and it hadn't worked so well then, but it was her only fallback: focus on anything but Soul Evans. "Forget about it," she said, "I... overreacted. I was-"

Seeing ghosts. Seeing ghosts that lived in the shadows knit by familiar trees, who left caricatures of her mother in her face and on the backs of her hands when she wasn't looking.

Determined, Soul moved himself closer, sneaking in from the side to stand in front of her. He stooped a little, to catch her eyes. On a better day, she'd spray him with the hose to get him out of her face, but as it was, she could only scramble to keep her face blank, unable to keep up with his myriad of little polite surprises.

"Sorry. If you got worried 'cause of me." The hat brim was pushed out of the way.

It was programmed in her, it seemed, her response to his apology something deeply ingrained from hearing it so many times in her youth, and refreshed in her memory from receiving it the day before yesterday.

"I know you are."

That ruddy color was saturated with a reddish cinnamon, even in the darkening evening.

"I'll not do it again."

She was back at the diner, but it felt as if she hadn't switched booths, though the words in her mouth belonged to the other side.

"I know you won't."

Satisfied with this, he took a step back, straightening and saying nothing as she moved on to the next stall with the hose. Maka heard his boots across the floor, headed towards the door. But they stopped, and, damn her, she looked back.

He turned on a bootheel, and she was reminded of that icy night in the mudroom, when he'd told her his name.

"But... don't tell me to ask Sue again," he called from the door. Maka's eyebrows furrowed, wary and two steps from being defensively angry, but he added, "'Jus... whenever you feel like answerin'. I'll ask _you_."

Why this distinction was a deal for him, she couldn't fathom, and why this distinction made her face warm, she equally couldn't fathom. She said, "Okay," but so quietly she wasn't sure anyone in the world had heard her, and Soul turned and disappeared around the corner.

* * *

Bluebonnets were beginning to bloom on the unkempt shoulders of the back roads, though it was hard to pick them out in the slate grey gloom of a spring storm. Water sluiced up the windshield of her father's old diesel pickup, occasional gusts of wind tugging on the empty gooseneck trailer she was hauling.

She'd asked for the day away from the vet so she could help haul the yearling cattle born last spring, and though she knew the full shipment wouldn't have been able to be taken without her, she regretted having taken the day off, considering the outcome.

The morning had started sub-par: riding out in the rain to gather the herd and trailer them had taken longer than it should have, the herd being uncooperative and breaking away multiple times.

The worst of it though, had been their buyer. She didn't know the figures off the top of her head like Tsubaki did, but she had a feeling the deal they'd been cut didn't even cover the upkeep of the yearlings they'd just sold. Going into the deal, they had expected a loss, but not one quite this large.

The storm dropped a handful of pea-sized hail for a moment before mellowing to a warm drizzle, thunder rumbling far away. By the time their caravan of empty stock trailers pulled onto Angel's End, the rain had stopped completely, which at least made unhitching a little more bearable, and gave Maka enough time to take care of the horses before supper.

If there was one thing she was grateful for today, she decided as she mucked stalls, it was a lack of strange men appearing from the ether.

The evening meal was a chatterless, subdued event, with an air of defeat made more apparent by Mifune's silence. The foreman was naturally a quiet sort of man, but this brand of quiet was loud, speaking of his disappointment with the day's events. He was always pensive when he found he'd miscalculated something, and with an error this large, Mifune wouldn't even touch his string beans or cornbread, and excused himself from the table early.

Tsubaki, who looked ready to fall asleep in her chair from stress and work and growing a human being in her belly, still had her reading glasses forgetfully perched on her head. She must have already gone through the finances and reported the results to Spirit. Also noticing her exhaustion, Blake and Soul offered to clean up the kitchen after supper, so Tsubaki hobbled her way up to bed.

Maka, still seated with most of her food on her plate (she'd found she hadn't much of an appetite, either), gazed at both her father's empty chair and nothing at all, wondering what his reaction was to Tsubaki's news. She wondered if that offer letter he kept in his shirt pocket felt a little heavier. Wondered how heavy it must become before he couldn't stand under the weight of all those zeroes anymore.

She ate a few more bites and then replaced them from the spread still on the table, adding them to her uneaten food and saving the plate for when her father came home, whenever that would be.

She made a stop at the laundry room, grabbing her designated basket of clothes and carrying it to her bedroom. Numbly, she began to fold her things, mind focused inward. She'd already decided she would find a way for Angel's End to break even, but with all the drama and work going on, she hadn't come up with a decent idea on how to do it. The situation weighed heavily on her mind, especially after the loss they'd taken today; she had to do something soon.

Shaking out a pair of jeans, something was flung to the floor and skittered under her bed. Maka groaned as she bent to hands and knees, pulling out a small, unidentified wad. She recognized it for what it was after an eyebrow-scrunching beat.

Washed and dried into a stiff, almost velvety block, the sixteen-step registration paper had faded to near illegibility. She sighed. She still needed to talk to Soul about that.

Maka tossed the folded paper to her bedside table like skipping a rock on a pond, but then, as if the idea of the rodeo had been dragged from the depths by destructive ripples, she suddenly knew what to do. She flew out of her bedroom, hurrying down the stairs to shove her feet into her boots.

She'd sworn off segregated rodeo games, and it wouldn't be enough to break even, but it would be a start, at least, even if she had to sacrifice a bit of her pride. That stuff was getting too much in the way lately, anyhow, right?

Maka half-ran all the way there.

She thought he must have been comfortable up until she knocked, because he was preemptively glowering when he answered his door, but she was too breathless and excited to care. In any case, his glower was replaced by surprise when he looked down to her height.

"Did Black Star tell you about it? The competition. At the rodeo."

Soul got over her sudden appearance at his doorstep quickly with her straightforward dive into conversation. His face grew weary as he replied, "He did," with a sour twist of his mouth.

Maka waved off his attitude; she had more important things to tackle, adrenaline and excitement pushing her ever forward. "Look, I'm- I know I said I wanted nothing to do with it, but things keep getting crazy, and now our buyers have gotten spoiled rotten 'cause of that Lazy S ranch, so something needs to be done- and so I'm thinking about entering," she blurted out, rapid-fire. "For the purse. I decided if I have to lose a little face to keep Mama's land, then I'll do it."

After her spiel, Soul blinked, though it would be more accurate to say the cowboy closed his eyes for a long moment while a small crease slowly formed between his eyebrows, and rubbed his bandana covered head with a hand. "...Okay?" he said dubiously. "I'll... help you? Is that what you're askin'?"

Slightly embarrassed, Maka flashed a shy smile. She realized she hadn't asked him a question in the first place. No wonder he looked so confused. "Y-yes, that's why I'm... if you don't mind, that is." As much as she hated to admit it, the ranch hand was district calf-roping champion, and there were probably things she could learn from him. If she entered for the competition, she'd be stupid to not seize any opportunity to help her win the prize money- she had to keep her wits on, and had the ranch to think of.

Soul slowly shrugged. "Not particularly," he said, looking awkward. "What is it you're needin' help with?"

She had to coach herself to say it, to shove her pride away for just five seconds to allow the words to escape her mouth. "It's been, um, a long time for me, so... I was hoping you could help me practice?" she asked, face burning. "Whenever you got some time."

His weight shifted over to one foot, his eyes darting away. "Yeah, sure," he said, rubbing under his nose. "Got time now, I 'spose."

It was her turn to do that long blink as she frowned. Maka glanced over her shoulder at the darkening spring sky, murky with the leftovers of the day's storm. "Now? It's getting kinda dark, isn't it?"

Soul gave her a quizzical look. "It's light enough inside," he replied, leaving her at the open doorway.

Critically eyeing the small guest house and not seeing any way for there to be nearly enough room inside to swing a rope, Maka balked. But Soul didn't appear to be speculative about the practice space- he only looked expectant and slightly bemused at her hesitance.

Well, she thought as she stepped forward, she had to admit that he _was_ mister Six-Point-Eleven, so maybe the man had some tricks he could teach her that didn't require swinging a practice rope?

Even in her head, the idea was a bit of a stretch, but the ranch hand stood in the middle of the room at one edge of Mama's floor rug, openly waiting on her with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. She closed the door behind her, leather and shaving cream filling her lungs. Fidgety, she pushed her ponytail off her shoulder. "Sooo..."

Exasperated, Soul quietly grumbled, "Well come here, then."

Feeling lost but not wanting to appear as such, Maka took a big step forward, lingering on the outskirts of the rug.

"Would you 'jus stand in front of me?" he griped.

She snapped back at his tone. "Well say so in the first place!"

His eyes narrowed at her. "I'd think at least that much shouldn't need sayin'."

Maka bristled. Just because he was a stupid champion didn't mean he had to be so condescending about it! She glared needles at him, but stepped forward again until she was directly in front of him. He stared at her a moment, and then _scoffed__._

"It really has been awhile, hasn't it," he said, eyes crinkling around the edges. "You said 'practice', but I didn't think you meant 'teach'," he teased, and, heaven as witness, Soul Evans smirked in such a way that, if she weren't in full control of her faculties and she were mercilessly tortured by relentless horse wranglers and general managers, she would almost say was quite becoming on him. While Maka battled her (hypothetical, of course) dismay at this observation, Soul put his hands on her shoulders and spun her to face the opposite direction, with him standing (closely, actually- close enough to dance along that boundary line between 'necessary' and 'Now Wait A Minute') behind her.

Perhaps shaving cream contained similar properties to chemical crowd control? The faint scents of the guest house and its main occupant appeared to keep her from thinking properly. Why was this position necessary? Wouldn't it be easier to teach her if they faced each other? He was left-handed, after all.

Which is what she asked him, though it came out like a squeak. "But aren't you left-handed?"

Adjusting to listening to his voice emanating from behind her at her height was an experience she did not desire to explain to anyone, because a person simply did not give up potential blackmail material about oneself. He asked, voice sounding sincerely curious, "That don't matter much for this, do it?"

Warning bells were going off in the distance (the distant-distance, beyond the crickets and frogs and wild dogs and owls, and perhaps beyond even the stars), and her knees gave the tiniest of precarious wobbles. She felt more than heard Soul take one step to the side, and a familiar warmth seeped through her shirt, but instead of at the small of her back, it bloomed on her shoulder, running down her arm, molding to the shape of it in a dizzying balance of gentle firmness. She had seen him do this to calm his horse before lifting its leg, but instead of fitting her for a shoe he simply took her hand.

Slowly he raised their connected fingers so they were near her shoulder, her palm facing upward, while her other hand was smoothly seized by his opposite, held out to the side and in such a manner that she was reminded of words like 'gentleman' and 'chivalrous' and all order of things that had absolutely no bearing on calf roping no matter how hard she tried to fit them together.

It took her an entire four seconds of frozen silence before she realized what was happening.

She bolted, entire body blazing like one giant blush from head to toe. "N-not! Not a- **NOT****!"** she stammered incoherently, while Soul backed away, hands held up as if she had him at gunpoint.

"What, what, _what'__d __I __do__-_"

Her scrambled brain finally made the appropriate connections required for human speech. She sucked in an anxious breath. "I was talking about roping, not _dancing__!"_

And in that instant, she had rolled back two months (and twenty years) in time, to that top-of-the-stairs, You'll Get Cooties state of being, in which she was a little girl staring at a boy, who'd both realized they had _touched_, which for some reason was a _big __deal_.

Unceremoniously, Soul's arms fell to his sides, Long-Blink already initiated. "Well then say that in the first place!"

"I thought I did!"

"Obviously you neglected that bit," he said as he sat down on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face with his hand. "Left handed," he muttered, in either disbelief or embarrassment. "Shoulda figured."

Nervous giggling bubbled up her throat. "S-sorry, I was just... I got ahead of myself-" The idea of how cooperative he'd been about it just made her laugh. "Thanks anyway, for going along with it? Kinda question your mentality though," she teased.

Soul glared at her. "Preacher to the choir, shortstack," he said wryly. "Found that goin' with it's the safest thing to do on account of not knowin' what to expect from you."

She wanted to take offense at that, but the tips of his ears were flushed. "So anyway," she diverted, fiddling with her bangs, "about the roping. Could I get some advice or anything from you?"

He sighed. "Already said 'yes', didn't I?"

"For something you misunderstood..."

"Well it's not like I woulda said 'no'."

What little composure she retained was shaken by a thick thump of her heart at that statement, and she couldn't find it in herself to reply.

Soul also seemed to realize what his words had sounded like, so he added, "'Jus wanna help how I can, to break even n'all." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Thought about ropin', myself, but with Harley still healin'..."

"Why?" she asked, all lightheartedness bleeding away to be replaced with apprehension. "That doesn't concern you- it's got nothing to do with you."

"Of course it does," he said. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and levelled a flat stare. "Or were you 'jus talkin' when you said 'you're ours too'?"

She tried to catch flies with her open mouth before stammering, "I-I wouldn't say something like that if I didn't mean it!"

He seemed to gauge her for a moment, then freed her from that stare, face and eyes turning away. Maka wondered if, with a hat on, that kind of expression would normally be hidden.

He said, "Lost my home once, already. So if I can stop it from happenin' again, I will."

With a long silence, Maka thought of what she wanted to prevent, and how she was protecting her home from an end that Soul had been living. She thought of the hay bale hauler, and how it had no purpose until it was brought here, given new meaning.

She thought of the floor rug between them, the guest house feeling lived-in.

Finally, she said, "Do you think you'll have some free time tomorrow?"

* * *

!

!

red-assed: like you've been riding in the saddle all day and it was a bumpy ride.

As for the way Soul is holding Maka's hands: this is the beginning position of a sixteen-step line dance.

!

!

Marsh: Hey guys. Sorry this took so long. Lots of stuff happened which also included me being violently booted out of the Lodestar universe. But I'm trying to force my way back in, one way or another. Thanks everyone for your continued support, both here and on tumblr. Most days it is the only thing that keeps me going. Extra shout out to Bones/AdulterClavis (who probably won't see this), because I know you've been having a hard time lately, and watching you has sorta inversely spurred me to finish writing this chapter, because I kinda look up to you and I hope that somehow, by getting through my blocks, I can somehow pretend that it might move yours just a little bit.

As always, reviews are welcomed and endlessly appreciated.


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